


A Day At the Beach

by corvusdraconis



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Thor - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-19
Updated: 2016-11-15
Packaged: 2018-03-24 16:57:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 79,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3776320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corvusdraconis/pseuds/corvusdraconis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[Loki/Hermione Granger] One Ásgarðian and a human witch are running from their pasts. In their attempt to get a way from it all, they meet on a secluded beach. It is utterly random, yet, perhaps it is something more than that. </p><p>Fate is always such a strange thing.</p><p>One-shot that turned into something more. (*shakes fist at muse*)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Brain… why do you insist on these oddball plot bunnies?  
> Why are they even called bunnies? This story is a cross-over, so most undoubtedly AU.  
> Disclaimer: None of these characters are mine. They belong to the people who actually created them, though, I suppose, Loki never really belonged to Marvel since he belonged to mythology long before them… oh well. You get the idea!  
> Beta love: fluffpanda (who ends up having to suffer through all my derailments FIRST! Isn’t she awesome! *tear*)

**The Trickster and the Witch**

"You don't have to keep pretending you're a rock," Hermione said idly, pulling her knees up to lay her chin upon them. "There is plenty of beach to share."

The man who was once a rock stood and peered at her curiously. "You surprise me, my Lady," he said.

Hermione chuckled. "I fear, I am no one's lady, my rock-friend." She stared out over the ocean surf, eyes upon the sea foam.

"What, then, might I call you," he asked softly, "lest I revert to calling you what you seem to think you are not?"

Hermione laughed, the sound of her bell-like resonance seemed to draw the man closer. "I am Hermione," she said with a tone of bitterness that countered her laugh. "I am no one you would care to meet."

"Perhaps, my Lady Hermione," he answered, a smile on his lips as she raised an eyebrow at his piecing both 'lady' and her name together rather than settling on one or the other. "Perhaps, you should allow one such as I to make their own decisions on whether or not you are someone I would care to meet."

Hermione tilted her head, brushing a bit of the mane that was her hair away from her face. "By all means, Mr. Mystery-rock."

He approached her, and pulling her hand into his, he brought it to his face, kissing the air above the back of her hand. "I am Loki, son of Laufey. A pleasure to meet you, Lady Hermione."

Hermione bowed her head with automatic courtesy, but her eyebrows lifted upon hearing his name. "Loki," she said simply. "The Trickster God. Have you come down from the heavens to take more away from me?"

Loki's eyes widened and he tilted his head with his own curiosity. "There are those who would cringe upon my name, throw themselves at my feet, or immediately attempt to test the supposed immortality of the gods starting with their fists, yet you do neither. Why is that?" The Frost Giant prince was curious. It was his one true failing.

Hermione, who had turned again to watch the sea, sighed. "There was a time when life was fleeting, Loki, son of Laufey," she said. "A time when I was as the otter playing in the seas, drifting on my back through the currents of time. I had friends I believed that would always be at my side, and knew my enemies from my allies, but that was long ago."

"So you sit here?" Loki asked, sitting down in the sand beside her. "Watching the ocean?

"Here is as good a place as there," she answered.

"And what of these friends you speak of?" Loki asked. "Have they betrayed you?"

"The worst sort of betrayal," Hermione said, tossing a rock into the churning sea. "They died, yet I remain."

Loki was quiet. "You have my condolences, my Lady," he said, and thoughts seemed far away, perhaps thinking of however many deaths that had taken those he cared about. "Most would call me a liar if they recognised my name. Why is it that you do not?"

Hermione gave a strange sort of smile that Loki recognised. It was the same smile he often gave his "brother" whenever he would ask a question whose answer seemed obvious. "Your magic spills off you like a scent, Mr. Rock," she said softly.

Loki's eyebrows lifted. "Of all the names you would latch onto, you decide upon 'Mr. Rock'?"

Hermione chuckled. "My apologies. Decades of teaching predisposes me to referring to more people as Mr. or Miss something or another than by anything else. I haven't taught in years, but the habit remains."

Curiosity reared up once again in the trickster god's eyes. "You do not look a year above what the humans' call their thirties, my Lady. Are you attempting to mislead me?" His voice came out surprisingly bitter.

Hermione's chin lifted. Something flashed across her eyes that was both pain and wistfulness. "You remind me of someone," she said softly. "A dear friend. His hair was much like yours in his youth. His eyebrows would furrow like yours when he doubted me, and oh would he doubt me. Every time I told him he was worth more than what others saw him him as." Hermione closed her eyes, one solitary tear trailed down her face. "Even when his hair was silver and shone like the fullness of the moon he doubted me. My friends called me nutters, you know, caring about a man who spent most of his remaining life trying to push me away onto someone younger—someone 'more deserving'." She shook her head and stared back out over the sea. "At least he believed me in the end."

Loki suddenly found himself in a strange place. He regret the harshness of his tone earlier. The bitterness, which had risen as it always did when his emotions got the better of him, had been unintentional, and they had somehow hurt this strange and enigmatic woman who knew him as Mr. Rock. "I apologise," he said, saying the words as though they were completely unfamiliar to him. "I assumed. High Father used to say," he trailed off as the memory, "that assuming is a failing of those with far less years to live by."

Hermione let out her breath slowly. "Sometimes the years make us jaded, Mr. Rock," she said.

Again, Loki found himself pondering how many years his unexpected companion on the beach had lived. She spoke as one with far more wisdom that her human age appeared. "Forgive me, my Lady. My mother would consider this question the ultimate rudeness, but I find myself wondering how old you are."

Hermione gave him a corner smile, the side of her mouth twitched upward. "Younger than you," she said with a touch of amusement.

Loki raised a brow. "That is a vague answer, considering my age."

"Do you even remember your age?" Hermione asked.

Loki thought about it, and his brows furrowed again. "It seems I have lost count."

Hermione snorted through her nose lightly. "So too, it seems, have I."

Loki scratched his head. The woman was an enigma. She was a wrapped present with no seams in which to open. Loki made it his business to be in the know of things before others, and he found that he knew nothing of this woman other than what she gave him. "May I ask how this came to be?"

Hermione brushed her hair back with one hand. "A childhood friend of mine worked for the Aurors. Muggles call them police. I have no idea what term you would find more appropriate."

"Guards," Loki said, but apologised again to let her continue.

"He was tracking this Dark Wizard that was trying to recreate the Sorceror's Stone," Hermione said. "Many have tried since the first one was destroyed, but none ever came close until this guy. Septimus Bloodcrow. The name should have tipped everyone off what kind of magic he was into, but for some reason, everyone just thought he was an eccentric old man that obsessed with transfiguration. It was I that helped him track down the wizard using his magical signature. It was my speciality of sorts. Ever since the war, I could see them clear as day, recognise them, and follow them."

Loki gave her an odd look. As much as he did dabble in the affairs of humans, he hadn't really paid much attention to the magic-wielding variety. It was a mistake that he realised he would have to correct if he was to understand this peculiar woman in front of him.

"Thing is," Hermione continued. "No one knew what he was brewing in that vat when the raid on his manor went down. All they knew was that his yard was full of gargoyles that had once been people. Every statuary on his property had been a missing child or villager. Harry, the idiot, was always rushing in where fools feared to tread. All he knew is that this wizard had turned over a score of people into statues for his garden, and he lost it. I'm not sure who was more the fool—him or me. He blazed in with wand out and flinging spells. I was the idiot that followed him. I along with five of his fellow Aurors blazed into the man's laboratory, and when the fight broke out, I was hit by a stunner from one of the Aurors of all people. It threw me back into a magic circle and trapped me there as the nearby shattered cauldron leaked out all over me. There was nothing anyone could have done. The circle was drawn to gather that magic of that cauldron together to make the new Sorceror's Stone. What no one had counted on was someone blasting me into it, and once that circle flared up to "protect" the forming stone, it basically destroyed me and then created me anew."

Hermione held her hand out in front of her face, making a fist and spreading her fingers out to examine them. For a moment, they were flesh and blood, and Loki could see the veins under the skin. Then, in a flash, her hand was pure magical energy formed into the shape of a hand. Blue and white bolts of lightning arced between her "fingers." Her eyes, which had been a very human brown, had become the blue and white glow of pure power. She turned her gaze to Loki, scanning over him as if to judge his character or his magic and then turned away as both her eyes and her hand returned to their more human "normal" appearance. "Healers told me I had a clean bill of health. My magic was strong, my body wasn't suffering from any ill effects, and short of the screams of agony the Aurors witnessed, I had no scars… not even the ones I went in with. Looking back on that, I should have suspected something." Hermione stroked her arm where the once scar of "Mudblood" had been carved into her flesh. Her skin, however, was pristine. "There were a lot of things I should have seen more clearly back then."

Loki, who had been listening with rapt attention, finally broke his silence. "When did you suspect," he began, "that things were not as they appeared?"

Hermione smiled. "A decade or so later, when I held Harry's grandchildren in my arms. He said, 'You haven't aged a day, 'Mione. Look at me with all my silver hairs."

"All that magic, and your hair was the first thing that tipped you off?" Loki sounded dubious.

"I'm a witch, Mr. Rock," Hermione said with a shrug. "Magic has been with me since birth, whether I realised it or not." She snorted. "To be fair, I came into my own slowly whatever enchantments Septimus did to his formula solidified and evolved inside me. I didn't just emerge from the circle shooting fireballs out my nose and lightning from my fingertips."

Loki's eyebrow twitched. "But you can now?"

Hermione shook her head. "I suppose if really wished to, which I do not." She gave him the look one usually reserved for overenthusiastic children who giggled at the word fart. "So tell me, Loki, son of Laufey. What brings you to this lonely beach where pretending to be a rock is preferable to whatever it is that gods do?"

"You sound as one who does not believe in gods," Loki answered.

Hermione gave a half smile. "Perhaps gods are simply those more in the know." She wave her hand over a small beaded bag at her side, and a miniature tea service sprung into her palm. She closed her eyes and it enlarged into a full sized version. She poured tea into two cups and handed one to Loki. "Tea? Standard black. Nothing too… crazy."

"Says the woman who brings forth tea from thin air," Loki quipped.

Hermione tsked. "I did not conjure it from thin air," she said. "Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration states that food cannot be created from nothing."

Loki smiled as he sipped the tea. "Air is not nothing. It is simply overlooked."

Hermione stared at him for a moment and then burst out laughing. It was a bell-like sound, both genuine and pure. "Fred and George would have loved talking with you," she said after a while. "You dodge my question, however, Mr. Rock. Do not think I have forgotten."

Loki sipped the tea again and realised that it was really good tea. It required no sugar and the taste was strong but not overbearing.

"I had a fight," he said after a while, "with my brother."

"Hrm," she answered. "Epic clashes of the gods sort of fight, or the kind of fight between two siblings that starts with misunderstanding and ends with two people being too stubborn to admit they are wrong?"

Loki startled, staring at her as though she might be a crocodile lurking amongst the reeds of his thoughts. "Perhaps both."

"Hn," Hermione answered, throwing a shell into the ocean surf. "And did things end worse than they began?"

Loki sighed. "They always do. No matter what is said or done."

Hermione traced runes into the sand with her fingers. "Wars rarely end the way we would envision them. Wars of the heart are no different." She cast him a sidelong glance. "Your brother, is he like you?"

"We are polar opposites," Loki answered, wondering why it was so easy to converse with her. There were no titles. She wanted nothing from him, was not trying to curry his favour, nor did she seem overly concerned with the truth of his answers, yet he found himself spouting the truth as though compelled to say it. This woman fascinated him. He glanced at the runes she was inscribing in the sand.

Laguz. Water. It was the rune adaptation and utilisation of what comes as it came.

Kenaz. The beacon. It was the rune of knowledge.

Gebo was the rune of gifts. It represented honour and connection between people.

Isa. Ice was the challenge or frustration.

Perthro was the rune of uncertainty and mystery.

Loki snorted softly. He knew quite a bit of all these things. Perhaps more than he cared to admit. "We were once inseparable," Loki admitted.

Hermione used her hand to wipe the runes off the sand in front of her. "And one day, you wondered what had happened. What had changed? Was it you? Was it them? Or was it something greater than other?"

Loki tilted his head. "We haven't been able to have a good heart to heart in many years," he said, trailing his words off with a sigh. "I will intend to go in and say something as we did when we were younger, and what comes out is not the same."

"Venom? Bitterness?" Hermione asked softly. "Unforgivable things?"

Loki scowled, but when he saw there was no enjoyment in her eyes, he let the look relax. "Yes."

Hermione stretched, her earth-toned robes fluttered as the breeze picked up off the ocean. "I once had a friend growing up. He, Harry, and I were almost inseparable. I forgave him for so many things over the course of our friendship, but one day, when we needed him the most, he left us in the woods, alone. He accused us of unspeakable things. He accused us of doing them together, and then he left us. It broke something in me, and I never forgave him. He came back and saved Harry's life, but I could not forgive. I could not let go. He died before I could finally let go of that anger and that bitterness. He died thinking I was the most unforgiving bitch on the planet. At least he married and had children… many, many children."

"He had children to get back at you?" Loki asked.

Hermione laughed. "No, Mr. Rock. It is the blessing or curse of his family to have many, many, red-headed children. Anyone who marries into the Weasley family is resigned to this fate."

"Ever been forced to turn yourself into a horse and lure off a stallion just so your 'peers' would win a bet and thus save your mother from being taken as a fee for building a wall around your city?" Loki asked conversationally.

"Can't say that I have had the pleasure," Hermione answered.

"I was a mare," Loki said with a curl of his lip.

Hermione's eyes widened with a little horror.

Loki had the expression Hermione remembered from Harry. It was his "never again" look.

"I feel like I should apologise for some reason," Hermione admitted.

Loki snorted. "Not your fault I ended up with a six-legged horse calling me mom."

Hermione met his eyes and they held it together before bursting into laughter. She laid back in the warm sand. "I suppose there are worse things than being married and having children. That would be one of them."

They sat in comfortable silence as the sun began to set.

Loki stood up from the sand, brushing the debris from his clothing. He looked down at Hermione as she lay in the sand watching the clouds.

He extended his hand to her.

She stared at his hand as though it might turn into a viper.

Loki furrowed his brows. "I wish to," he trailed off as he tried to wrangle his words. It had never been hard for him to say what someone needed to hear, twist their thoughts, or manipulate their response, but he found himself struggling on something far more simple: the truth. "I wish to take you to dinner. There is a place down the beach that serves… food."

Hermione raised her eyebrow at him. "Offering to take me to dinner and taking me to a place that only serves coffee would be so awkward." Her eyes were laughing at him.

Loki flushed, wondering why his social skills were behaving so badly the one time he'd really like to come off as being suave.

Slowly, Hermione took his hand. "Very well, Mr. Rock. I would join you for," she paused to grin, "food." She pulled herself up using his extended hand and brushed the sand and litter off her robes.

Loki held out his arm to her. "If you would allow me to escort you, my Lady."

_"I am no one's lady," she had said before._

As Hermione's arm entwined with his, they walked side by side down the beach.

As Loki cast an almost shy sidelong glance at Hermione as she walked, his lips curved into a smile. She was already a lady to him. He had centuries to learn the rest.


	2. Future Interlude I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a glimpse into into the future of one God of Lies and the one creature in all the realms accepts him despite himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hadn't intended this to continue, I swear, but I had to get it out of my head! *frantic flailing!* Enjoy? (heart!)
> 
> Beta love: fluffpanda

**Chapter Two: Interlude**

  


Loki sprawled lazily on the bed. A cool breeze blew in from the open window as he stretched under the drape of a soft quilt. He stretched out a blue hand, gently stroking a lock of brown hair away from his companion’s face. His ruby red eyes glowed softly in the gloom of the twilight hours.

His eyes focused out the window where snow fell with large white flakes, yet the cold did not bother him, nor did it seem to bother her.

She was a creature of magic more than flesh, yet, even her name seemed to defy common classification. Her magic sang to him in a way that his quest for power could not approach. The touch of her skin against his was like an aphrodisiac. She did not cringe from his Jötunn form. To her, it was just skin. She did not fear his power. To her, it was just magic.

She would speak of magic like it was the most common thing in the world. It was nothing to be feared any more than any tool in the hands of the “wrong” sort. He smiled to himself. Some would argue he was exactly the wrong sort to allow the wielding magic—as if anyone could truly stop him.

He shifted under the quilt, his arms seeking the warmth of her body, pulling himself against her. She stirred slightly, snuggling into his chest with a huff of air, but did not wake. She slept. It was the ultimate compliment, he knew, for he was not one to sleep if he did not believe himself safe. To trust someone else enough that sleep was possible was the highest compliment he could bestow. Who could the God of Lies trust not to try and shank him in his sleep? He didn’t even trust his supposed brother for that.

Days and nights often passed in sleep. Their magic meshed them together tighter with each touch they shared, but when they coupled, the snow would fall in blizzard proportions and simultaneously feel like spring—complete with crocuses and blooming hyacinths. A few Christmases in July had proven that little factoid. It was strange, however, that when they did couple together, the aftermath was always sleep. They had a few different places they had crafted into “safe places to hibernate” as Hermione called it. The word hibernate had come to mean so much more to him than sleep.

Loki had never been the sleeping type. There was always something more to do. Some plot or another called his attention away. Some adventure his brother would drag him on would keep him from whatever cathartic relief sleep was supposed to bring. He never understood the appeal of sleep until recently.

They slept like immortals, which was to say they slept like All Father in his Odinsleep, only, they did it together, and they slept sometimes weeks, months, or years at a time. When they woke, it was sometimes discombobulating to realise such long periods just passed by them so quickly, but Loki and Hermione both confessed that they had never felt so strangely content. Loki always had the pleasure of waking first, and he made no mistake that it was anything but pleasure to feel the tug to remain entwined with her. The simple feel of her with him as he woke was enough to inspire him to forgive his adoptive family every transgression he had ever accused them of. He even preferred it to his normal meddling in human and Æsir  affairs.

His travels with Hermione had become so distracting that the Æsir became nervous. Surely, the silence was a portent of the coming storm. Surely, they thought, Loki was playing them as fools as he always did.

Yet, Loki did not come knocking. He had other things on his mind, and a mind like his had plenty of things in which to occupy it.

Loki shrugged his shoulders, feeling his hair loosen from the ribbon which held it. It fell about his face like curtains, and he leaned in to nuzzle Hermione’s neck. There were far more important things on his mind than what the Æsir thought of him anymore. He was far more interested in ideal hibernation locations, travelling worlds, solar systems, and universes beyond.

Hundreds of worlds had been their courtship. Hundreds of different skies, different soils, different languages. He had taught her the ways of the gods, the magic of alien language, of appearing like one of the people of numerous of cultures and thousands of alien life forms, and countless civilisations. She had taught him something no less vast: humility and tolerance.

Loki saw in her the ultimate cumulation of magic. She was power incarnate, yet she was more apt to sit on a beach and watch the crabs skitter along the sand and fight over pieces of food than sway civilisations to her cause. It wasn’t, he knew, that she couldn’t. He had been an apt teacher, but when it came down to it, Hermione was a primal force both as powerful as she was indifferent. Her transformation from a mortal, human witch into whatever it was she had truly become had made her into a paradox. She was power incarnate, but short of the casual magic she used to change her appearance, manipulate objects, and call things to her as “normal as any witch,” she did not make a show of herself. She was perfectly content to be overlooked, passed over, and underestimated.

“There was a time when all I wanted was to be recognised as being a legitimate witch despite my birth family and blood status,” Hermione had said to him. “Now look at me. All of those who stood in opposition to me are buried and gone, forgotten, and dismissed. Now, I am the only one that remembers their sins like it was yesterday.”

“Did you not wish to have them pay for such crimes against you?” Loki had asked. “They hurt you, carved your skin like a knife to a tree, ridiculed you…”

“Molly Weasley killed the one who carved my skin,” Hermione had replied wistfully. “She defended her family in righteous fury as was her right as a mother. The others, well, they all died, eventually. What good is it to dwell and let them conquer my life and haunt my thoughts?”

“But you are powerful, my Lady,” he had protested.

“And if I wasn’t this freakish result of a Dark Wizard’s attempt to harness immortality?” she had asked. “Would you still find me interesting? Would you even care?”

Loki had paused at that. Would he have found her as interesting in time to marvel at her complexity if she had been mortal? They had slept through periods as long as one human lifetime. Their bond had grown through decades and centuries. Could he have been like his brother and loved a human and been doomed to a fleeting mortal love?

Looking back on his first decade or eight with Hermione, he realised how much she had forced him to come to terms with his own demons. A part of her knew that he, at that time, would not have been able to accept “some ordinary human female” even if that human was magical. And now, he know, he would not be able to accept anyone else, human or otherwise, because anyone else would not be her. Whatever it was she had become was what he wanted. She was what he needed. He could not accept the fleeting human and mortal version of herself because it would not have been her. What she was now was, as much as he was now the God of Lies and Misdirection, fated.

She could balance his rage and the acid of his hate, temper his mischief, and accept his faults. He had, in turn, taught her the true face of the God of Lies, how to focus even when time made everything seem trivial, the finer arts of subterfuge, as well as find humour in her remaining human quirks and idiosyncrasies. In a way, it was he that allowed to her hold on to her remaining humanity, and it was her that allowed him to hold on to the part of him that once was God of Mischief rather than the God of Lies.

He hadn’t even realised how much he had come to depend on her calming presence until he had stormed off on one of his tirades against the his brother yet again, and ended up in a fight of epic proportions. The gods never did anything small, and Thor and Loki had stopped having “friendly” brawls sometime around when Loki had tried to take over the world the first or second time.

Thor had always been a bit of a trigger for him, he could admit some hundreds of years later. Whenever his brother entered the field, Loki lapsed back into his “old” manipulative ways and proceeded to try and take over the throne of power, either literally or figuratively. It was only at this height of one of his peaks of power that he felt the ache of something missing. The hunger gnawed at the frozen heart he held hidden from view with his rage and hate. The longing he had was for something he could not conquer, manipulate, or lie to obtain.  The switch had been flipped, and Loki, the God of Lies and Misdirection, attempted to exit the playing field to find the one creature in all of Miðgarðr that could understand his plight.

It wasn’t until he couldn’t find her that a different sort of madness had threatened to claim him. He had looked in all the old haunts they had once visited on Earth. He had even visited the old Wizarding places. He found himself at the gravestone of Severus Snape, looking for the small and smooth ocean stones that marked her yearly visit. Despite all of his looking, there was not a trace of her. Despair had threatened to overcome his senses. A part of him had crumpled in the knowledge that he had taken too long to come to his senses. Perhaps, he had lamented, she had taken the next step into her evolution and become magic without form.

_“_ _Please don_ _’_ _t go,_ _”_ _Hermione pleaded, her eyes glistening with a flicker of her magic._

_“_ _How can I not?_ _”_ _Loki snarled._

_“_ _It will not solve anything,_ _”_ _she replied sadly._

_“_ _It will solve much!_ _”_ _Loki raged, gritting his teeth._ _“_ _He has been mocking me with his stupidity for centuries. He needs to be taken down a peg!_ _”_

_Hermione closed her eyes and turned her head away._ _“_ _I suppose nothing I say or do will stop you then,_ _”_ _she whispered._

_“_ _This is a matter between gods,_ _”_ _Loki hissed._ _“_ _It has nothing to do with you._ _”_

_Hermione_ _’_ _s expression went blank and impassive. Her normally expressive brown eyes turned black. Her posture straightened as she pulled her robes across her chest with her folded arms._ _“_ _No, I suppose not,_ _”_ _she answered him quietly._

_“_ _You think yourself too important,_ _”_ _he accused._ _“_ _You forget you are beneath me._ _”_

_Her Occluded eyes stared back at him._ _“_ _You_ _’_ _re right,_ _”_ _she answered him._ _“_ _For a time,_ _”_ _she said with a pause._ _“_ _I thought I mattered. Thank you, for reminding me of my place._ _”_ _Her eyes had flashed with the pure blue of her magic and there was a sharp crack of sound. She was gone._

In truth, he had felt her absence the moment she left. The calmness and the balance of his own usually chaotic  energy had returned to the state he had always wrestled with for the first part of his life. It was the energy of hatred, lies, and destruction. It was the energy that fought against the Æsir with every breath he took.

At first, it was like greeting an old friend. Its familiarity was a welcome feeling. He fell back into his old habits so easily. Blaming his brother and whatever friends he had was the easiest of it all. Channelling his rage was easier still. Yet, when he stood over his brother’s abused friends—those Loki himself once called friends— something happened.

_“_ _It will not solve anything,_ _”_ _Hermione_ _’_ _s voice came to him in the middle of his rage._

He saw something in their loyalty to each other that had been ingrained into their very cores over the decades. They never questioned. They never faltered in their convictions. They never evolved, and he was trying to be just like them.

Then, as the panicked eyes of Sif, Volstagg, Fandral, and Hogun stared at the countenance of their once friend, Loki made the magical storm around Ásgarðr dissipate and then walked off the stage as the Bifrost Bridge carried him away.

He had chosen to evolve.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-

“Remember the woman who used to teach the children about the mythical sea creatures?” an older man said as he sat at picnic table by the beach.

“Oh, yes, I do,” the woman next to him replied.

“They say she’s been in a coma for years,” the man said sadly. “It’s a tragedy, if you ask me. She was always so good with the children, even if she wasn’t so easy to understand as an adult. All the talk of sea serpents, hippocampi, selkies, and leviathans seemed like tales seemed more for children than adults.

“She was undoubtedly a teacher,” the woman said. “The children loved her. Even today, they teach our grandkids the stories she once told them. They remember them so clearly.”

“Can you imagine?” the man asked. “To just waste away in that hospital. It seems like such a waste.”

“Do you know what happened?” the woman asked.

“The locals say they just found her on the beach,” he replied sadly. “No one could wake her.”

“Such a pity,” the woman replied.

Behind them, only a table away, Loki’s hand trembled around his iced tea glass as red had bled a cross his eyes. She hadn’t abandoned him after all.

-o-o-o-o-

Loki found “Jane Doe” in a small hospital in the middle of no where. The smell of antiseptic and sickness made his nose curl in disgust. When he saw her, lying still in the hospital bed, his chest seized.

He fell into the chair by her bed, his hand covered hers, ignoring the IV tubes that ran up her arm. He touched her cheek, his thumb bumping into the nasal canula that was providing her oxygen. It was a terribly human sort of thing to do in order to keep someone alive, and Loki wasn’t even sure if Hermione needed either to remain “alive” in the most traditional sense. Did magic breathe? Did it need hydration?

Suddenly, he was reminded of the All Father’s Odinsleep—Odin’s periods of unconsciousness when he became as frail as a mortal as his powers regenerated— and wondered if whatever had claimed her was something similar. It was similar perhaps, but he sensed that her her sleep was not for gathering of power. It was almost as if her magic had gone dormant, and her body had simply gone dormant with it.

What a fool he had been to accuse of her being beneath him. Even now, he could feel the familiar caress of her dormant magic calling to him like a moth to the flame. He longed to see her eyes open and recognise him with the gentle smile he had come to realise had been for him all along.

He had cast her aside and demeaned her. There was an equally good chance that if she did wake, her eyes would be as cold as the time he had chosen his war with his brother over her companionship. It would have been his own fault had she turned her back upon him. He would have deserved it.

Staring at her “sleeping” face, he realised he wanted to share things with her. Places, planets, universes, cultures, magic that spread beyond Miðgarðr called, and he wanted to share them with her. He wanted to share his magic with her. He wanted to share himself with her.

Never in the years that they had travelled together had they been physically intimate. Perhaps, he had never allowed himself, or perhaps he had truly thought himself that much above her that being intimate with her would have below him. Whatever his reasons, he had never allowed himself to be tender with her. They had laughed together, shared adventures, and even shared horrible motels together, but never once had he caressed her skin and confessed anything more than some growing friendship. He had botched that friendship up by telling her she was below him.

He pulled Hermione’s body close to him, her thin hospital gown felt like tissue against his robes. He tucked her head under his chin, pressing his nose into her hair. “Hermione,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.” He caressed her hair with his hand, combing it with his fingers. “I was a fool.”

He closed his eyes, cradling her against himself. His magic called to her as hers had always called to him. He counted away the mortal years, trying to remember how long it had been since his horrible snafu. He couldn’t remember. Time had never meant anything to him, yet facing the future with the weight of his crime against her meant more to him than the world he had tried to subjugate on multiple occasions or the thrones he had tried to steal.

“Hermione,” he whispered into her ear. “I’m sorry… sorry for being such a—”

“Dunderhead,” she whispered into his chest, her exhale of breath tickling his skin.

Loki pulled away to stare down at Hermione’s blue and brown eyes. The flickers of her magic danced across them.

“You better not be lying to me, Mr. Rock,” she said softly. “I was having a wonderful conversation with an old friend.”

Loki shuddered, pressing his forehead to hers as he closed his eyes. “I fear I am at a loss for scintillating conversation at the moment.”

“Hn,” Hermione said softly. “I guess I’ll just go back to my wonderful conversa—”

Loki’s mouth covered hers, silencing her words. His magic crackled around him, blending with hers. His hand reached over to yank the IV tubes off the machine as he pulled her to him. A storm of magic rose around them as they vanished into thin air.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-

“What are you thinking about?” Hermione asked as her finger traced the markings over his skin.

Loki stared into her eyes. “You.”

Her thumb brushed under his eye. “Surely, there is something more interesting to be thinking about on such a glorious blizzard-prone spring morning.”

Loki’s eyes flashed. “No, not really.”

She stared at him dubiously. “I do not believe you,” she said.

“Are you calling me a liar?” he purred back at her.

“The Master of Lies,” she said.

He growled softly, latching onto her neck with his mouth, letting his teeth scrape against her skin. “I prefer… God.”

“There’s that great humility you’ve been working on—AH!” Hermione gasped as his teeth clamped on the flesh of her neck.

He murmured something in a language yet unknown to Earth.

“No,” Hermione groaned. “No, no, no. We’ll sleep for another week.” She squirmed and pushed him off her neck.

Loki gave her a hurt expression. “You say this like it’s a bad thing.” His red eyes glowed as his lips formed into a pout.

“Don’t give me the eyes,” Hermione groaned. “Not the eyes.”

Loki tilted his head, his lips quivering.

Hermione turned her head to force herself not to look at him.

He put his hands around her neck and rubbed her muscles. She murmured softly in approval. She placed a hand on his. “Besides, there is somewhere I need to be today.”

Hermione stood up, summoning her robes to her with her outstretched hand. She shrugged her shoulders as the the black outer robe draped across them like a shroud. The moment the robe settled around her shoulders, she passed her hand over her face, and her features changed into that of an older woman with long silver hair pinned back with a serpent clasp and a green ribbon. For a moment, her eyes flashed with blue fire as energy crackled down her arms, but she flicked her arms as if to shake water from them. The energy shimmered and dissipated.

Loki yawned and stood, pulling his silk undergarments on before pulling his multiple layers of what might have looked like a leather trench coat to some random Muggle, but Hermione knew better. This was Loki’s most formal armour. It was the accoutrement of a God that both obscured him from sight from those looking for him and shimmered with the handiwork of the Æsir. The deep green lining of the leather always brought a smile to Hermione’s face. He was, in her mind, the quintessential Slytherin. He would have given Salazar Slytherin a run for his money, and turned his house upside down.

Hermione glided over to him, her hand gently touched his gauntlet, moved over his rerebrace, and moved his pauldrons across his shoulders. He stared at her as she moved over his collar and adjusted it around his throat with a smug smile. She tugged his baldric in place with a wink.

“Have I forgotten how to dress myself, my Lady?” he rumbled, a twitch of his lips turning his straight scowl into a smile.

“Just helping,” she hummed, running a finger along his chin.

He growled softly. “I would much prefer you help me remove my armour than put it on.”

Hermione sniffed at him. “We just woke up. Surely we can restrain ourselves for the span of one mortal day?”

Loki looked upward as if she were asking him to touch something foul. “As you wish,” he said with a turn of his nose. His skin faded into the pale but human looking colour. His eyes changed into a crystal blue at reminded her of ice and the cold skies of winter.

Hermione smiled as she saw him in his formal finery. She knew that few if any would see him as anything he did not wish them to see, but to her, she saw the flare of his magic around him—primordial and chaotic. It flared around him like the arching of electricity and the fan of flames. They reached out to “taste” the air around him. She cupped her hand against his cheek and brought her lips to his, feeling the thrum of his magic weave around her in the attempt to merge. She pulled away before it could and undo the last few minutes of attempting to leave.

Loki looked at her somewhat sadly, as her doing so was a crime against so many things.

Hermione turned on her heels, reaching her hand out to call her wand to her, knowing that travelling in Wizarding places without it would call more attention to herself than a Muggle getting lost in Diagon Alley. A witch without a wand was asking for trouble. Her fingers ran across the old vinewood wand with the kind of affection only countless years of being together could do. It was both reverence and love. She tucked it in the holster up her sleeve and opened the door to their refuge to walk out into the snow.

As she walked a few feet out into the snow, a large mound of snow burst open as a giant wolf sprung out and pounced upon her, throwing her into the nearby snow drift.

Long licks and warm snuffles to her neck caused her to giggle and shove the giant wolf off her.

“Hello, Fenrisúlfr,” she gasped, shoving the wolf’s giant muzzle away from her. “I hope guarding our sleeping place did not bore you too much.”

The World Wolf yawned toothily with a whine and thumped his tail in happy greeting.

Hermione rolled up her sleeve and placed her arm into his mouth, allowing the wolf to close his jaws gently around her skin. He released her almost instantly, licking her arm with a pant. It was a gesture of trust they did on every meeting. He was trusting her not to pull one over on him, and she was trusting him not to bite her arm off. The large wolf had an equally distrusting history amongst the Æsir as Loki, but he had found new life in guarding his sire and Hermione wherever they stayed for long periods at once place or another. It kept him from razing cities and devouring locals, so Hermione didn’t disapprove of it.

Fenrisúlfr padded circles around her, sensing that they were travelling and excited at the prospect.

Hermione cast her gaze into the wolf’s golden eyes. “You will not eat any witches or wizards today,” she commanded, her eyes flashed with blue fire.

The wolf whined and placed his muzzle against her arm turned his eyes up in appeal.

Hermione sighed. “Unless they try to kill me. Then you may… chew upon them.”

Fenrisúlfr woofed lowly, tail wagging in approval.

“You are getting soft on him, my Lady,” Loki said with an upturn of his lips. He held out his arm for her to take, and she wrapped her arm around his.

Hermione placed her hand at Fenrisúlfr’s nape of the neck and held it there. “I would prefer if he did not eat someone in front of me.”

“Hrm,” Loki purred. “Behind you then?”

Hermione scowled, lifting her chin up in defiance, causing Loki to laugh.

“Admit it,” Loki said. “My son has grown on you.”

Hermione stared into the golden eyes of the lupine World Eater. He looked up at her adoringly. She sighed. “Fine.”

Fenrisúlfr woofed in approval, causing Loki to tilt back his head and laugh genuinely. Loki’s once mate, Angrboða, had long since been buried, much as Hermione’s closest friends had been. Hermione no more questioned his old relationship with the giantess sorceress than Loki questioned her yearly pilgrimage to the graves of mortal friends.

Hermione rolled her eyes and closed her eyes. There was a sharp crack as her apparate whisked them away.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Hermione placed a smooth black water-tumbled ocean stone on the gravestone in front of her. She cleaned the moss and lichen away from the stone’s writing and placed her hand upon the smooth granite.

“You were right, Severus,” she whispered softly as the wind attempted to undo her hair. “I do have this disturbing attraction to dark-haired older and brooding magic wielders.” She let out a dry laugh. “I’m sure you’re rolling your eyes in the afterlife, my dear friend.”

She pulled out a book from her robes and placed it against the headstone. “I miss you,” she said with a tilt of her head. “More than I can possibly say. I miss our long patrols looking for interlopers in the halls of Hogwarts, tea in your drearily decorated Headmaster’s Office, and our long conversations about the effect of armadillo bile on the acid-base balance of potion making.”

Hermione traced the letters of his name on his gravestone. “Sometimes, I could really use your advice,” she confessed. “Someone to tell me I’m being a stupid girl again or to call me an insufferable know-it-all. Harry and Ron were never good for knocking sense into me after you were gone. Harry had his hands full with his family. Ron, well, we all know happened with Ron. At least he and Lavender were happy, right? Surely that meant something in the end?”

Hermione sighed. “I’ve learned to let things go,” she chuckled, pulling her robe around herself in a reflection of the old Potion Master. “It only took a few centuries of practice. I fear I missed the last few years due to… hibernation. Sometimes it’s only a few days. Sometimes it’s weeks, and sometimes it’s years. I wake up and the world has changed and I haven’t. I feel like the I am what my old self used to complain about. I evolve so slowly that one decision can last me a human lifetime. I was always so quick to condemn the old Wizarding ways as being so buried in tradition and that the Old Ways didn’t catch up to the modern world. Now I’m the old stick in the mud that fights tooth and claw against change. I am actually happy that the Wizarding World is trapped in time because I can come back and feel like it hasn’t changed.”

Hermione smiled at the grave. “You’re laughing at me. I can feel it.” She tilted her head up and stared at the clouds passing over. “I wonder if our portraits in the Headmaster’s Office have our conversations like we always did. Do portraits have tea together and live a shadow of the life we did? I will admit I took a few pages from your handbook on how to fake my own death when I had to leave office, as it were.” Hermione paused and stared down at her feet. “I couldn’t exactly live longer than Dumbledore and have everyone wonder where I was hiding my Philosopher’s Stone, now could I?”

Hermione picked up a branch from the ground and clasped her hand around it. There was a flash of magic, and she placed a single white orchid on his grave. She stood up and took in a deep breath. She placed her fingers to her lips and kissed them. She pressed them to his gravestone. “Be at peace, old friend.”

Loki stood under a fir tree as he waited for her. He leaned back against it looking like the gunslinger cowboy from the Muggle movies. All he needed was the hat and a blade of grass sticking out of his teeth. He stood up straight as she approached and opened his arm to her as she silently buried herself into his embrace. He silently pulled her close to him, enfolding her.

Severus had been the one person that knew her secret. Even Harry had gone to the grave unknowing of her immortality. Severus had supported her, kept her anchored, been her stalwart friend, and never failed to give her harsh doses of reality when she needed it. Now, that task fell in Loki’s hands, but he knew he had big shoes to fill. Severus had been rooted in her reality and knew its intricacies. Hundreds of years later, Loki was still learning what one mortal human wizard had seemed to master in a handful of years.

“I’m going to go visit with Harry,” Hermione said with a sad smile.

Loki nodded. He nudged his furry son with his boot. The startled World Eater woke from his doze and trotted along side Hermione as she walked to another part of the graveyard.

Loki walked over to the grave of Severus Snape and placed a stone upon the headstone. He knelt at the stone as he traced a rune with his fingers over the stone. His magic flickered around his fingers as the rune hung in the air and then seemed to sink into the stone itself. “I will cherish her until the day I am no more,” he said softly. “Come Ragnarök, I shall fight for her until my dying breath, and if there is life beyond, I will fight tooth and nail to return to her side. I swear it.”

Loki stood, closing his eyes as the breeze kicked up the scent of the spring flowers around him. Every time they visited, he repeated his Oath to Hermione’s most trusted confidant and friend. Severus had been a keeper of secrets, and Loki was one who respected that trait above many others.

He shrugged his shoulders, turning. His furry son had Hermione’s sleeve in his jaws and was leading her back to him. Loki smiled at the sight of the wolf’s dedication to her. Of all of his children, Fenrisúlfr was the most loyal, and he had the added benefit of being able to change his size to appear less gargantuan. While Jörmungandr might be considered loyal, the world serpent had the OCD of wrapping around the world and biting his own tail and not letting go, which made socialisation a bit difficult. Hel had her own duties, and until people stopped dying, he doubted his daughter was going to be anything but busy anytime soon. Sleipnir had been brainwashed by Odin to serve him faithfully, and Loki had long since blamed Odin’s use of some sort of legendary apples of loyalty to sway the eight-legged horse into his service. He had no proof, of course, other than the greatest of all horses seemed to prefer Odin to his mother, er, father… oh no wonder the horse preferred Odin. At least Odin didn’t change genders on him. Confusing family genetics? Plenty, thanks.

Hermione wrapped her arms around his waist and looked up at him with a warm smile, causing every thought he had going on his head to derail completely.

“Sorry for making you wait,” she apologised.

Loki shook his head. “It is nothing,” he said. He reached around her head and released the serpent hair clasp that was binding her normal mane of hair. The moment her hair loosened, he pressed his lips to hers. Their magic wove together, the cords that bound them together tightened. As he stared into her face, her older guise melted away, and his eyes glowed red as a growl reverberated in his throat. He pulled her into him, looping his free hand around Fenrisúlfr’s ear.

The old graveyard caretaker shook his head as he watched the young couple disapparate with laugh and a giggle. “Kids,” he muttered. “No respect for the dead.” He scratched his head as he realised the area where the couple had disappeared from was covered in a light layer of snow and spring flowers.

Thousands of miles away, Fenrisúlfr yawned toothily as he settled into the snow cave he had dug himself in the polar snow, his ears flicking lazily. He lay his head across his giant paws and curled his tail around his body, settling himself in for guard duty as both his Sire and Mistress slept once more. Perhaps, when they woke again, he would get to pick the next place to romp. If he was really lucky, he might have a brother or sister to play with soon. The idea pleased him, and Fenrisúlfr settled in for the wait. He was, after all, a very patient wolf.  



	3. Children of the Gods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenrisulfr's past with Hermione is revealed.  
> Hermione and Loki visit a part of Hermione's past.  
> Hermione voices a life changing desire.

Beta Love: ** fluffpanda**

 

* * *

 

**Chapter Three: Interlude II : Children of the Gods**

Fenrisúlfr was like a giant, loyal, wolf-shaped, rampaging elephant in a china shop. There was only so many places it was “safe” to take a World Eater and have him not do what his moniker so lovingly suggested. It wasn’t as if the wolf didn’t have a mind of his own, have his own more than apt intelligence, or enjoy the freedom to leave and do whatever he wished. Fenrisúlfr wished to stay nearby and share the company of his sire and his once friend and now mate.

Hermione wasn’t sure what had clued the giant wolf in that something had changed with his sire, nor did she know what had drawn the wolf back to Loki’s side, but he had just shown up one day during one of their beach walks. Fenrisúlfr, like any self-respecting sun-chasing World Eater, proceeded to attack the person who had the gall to share the same beach as Loki.

Loki hadn’t exactly had any true allies that weren’t genetically related to him, so, in hindsight, the wolf had every right to presume nothing had changed in the last few sun-chasing cycles. The only problem was, Loki had just forsaken his quest to subjugate Ásgarðr and returned to Hermione’s side and forge their relationship anew. Hermione, drowsy from her slumber, had been embodying her more human and mortal characteristics in order to enjoy her return to consciousness.

* * *

 

Pain was the first thing she knew as she was slammed into the ground by the largest wolf she had ever seen.  There was burning fire in her arm as fangs dug into her flesh, and she was so taken off guard in her post-sleep state that her mind hadn’t even registered the danger, let alone the sense that she had been stalked.

The pain however, was quickly waking up the part of her recalled she was not some common victim that would simply allow herself to be devoured by a giant wolf. Her eyes bled into a pure electric blue, but, unlike other battle conditions, she felt hatred, rage, and fury rise from a place she didn’t even know she had. Black chaotic energy swirled around her own blue eldritch magic, and she channeled it into the wolf, breaking his grip and flinging his body down the beach.

The huge wolf yelped with pain as his body tumbled in the sand only moments before Loki’s towering fury descended upon the wolf from wherever he had materialised from.

Loki snarled, his hand wrapped around the wolf’s throat, throwing the creature on its back with the kind of strength born of rage. Chaotic black tendrils of wrathful magic whipped around him, slamming the wolf, causing the wolf to tuck his tail between his legs and pin his ears back with a low keening whine.

Loki spat a chain of words in a language Hermione didn’t know, and with every word the giant wolf seemed become less giant. He shrunk as Loki clenched his hand to the wolf’s throat,  seemingly giving Hermione’s attacker no  quarter.

Hermione, having shaken off the strange surge of foreign hatred and rage, pulled herself to her feet. Blood was dripping down her arm, but the wound itself had long healed. The jolt of pain had awoken her system and jump-started her magic and her healing of the shape she favoured.  “Loki,” she whispered.

His name had a dramatic effect on him, and the black swirling energy that whipped around him  began to ease. Slowly, his clawed hand released its grip upon the wolf. “You shame me,  Fenrisulfr,” he said through gritted teeth. “She should be safe within my company. Safe with me! She is not some random Æsir you have every right to attack on sight.” Loki glared furiously down at the wolf, and the wolf continued to whine, tail tucked tightly between his legs in submission.

Hermione touched Loki’s shoulder, and his arms  were around her almost immediately. He crushed her against his body. His blue eyes had bled into the startling ruby red and his skin had turned a startling shade of cobalt blue. She didn’t have much time to register these facts as his magic crashed into hers, meeting like two opposing tides, but instead of fighting each other, they blended in a rush. Hermione recognised the heat, the rage, hate, and the feel of chaos that smoldered within him, but under it all was relief. He held her as though he were afraid she would simply dissipate if he wasn’t there to hold her together.

There was a soft whine, and Hermione felt a soft licking upon her once injured arm. The giant wolf was slowly lapping  the blood off her.  His tail was still tucked and he was half on his back with his belly still exposed, but he cranked his head up from the ground to lick submissively at the place he had only recently tried to rip off her body.

Loki cradled her head under his chin, running his hand through her hair.  “Hermione, this is my son, Fenrisulfr,” he said with a deep growl. “I fear he has long gone without manners.”

The wolf whined and licked her arm in appeasement. His golden eyes rolled up to stare up at her and his sire. Now that introductions were made, it was clear the wolf had imprinted Hermione’s scent and identity upon his lupine brain. The mistake he had unwittingly committed would never be repeated.

“Your child is a wolf?” Hermione said in a tone that was both curious and disbelieving at the same time.

“My first child was an eight-legged horse, my love,” Loki answered her, rubbing his thumbs against her cheeks. “I will admit that when Fenrisulfr arrived into the world, the first thing I did was count legs think he was amazingly normal.”

Hermione gazed upon the wolf who was still lapping her arm clean of the evidence of their earlier altercation. “Touché.”

* * *

 

Fenrisúlfr ran around Hermione in tight circles, prancing with the carcass of what appeared to have once been an beach dwelling ostrich. Had been was the operative term. The poor creature had definitely met its end to the wolf’s powerful jaws, and he was perfectly happy carting the body around with him until he was inclined to devour it. Hermione laid her hand between the wolf’s ears and stroked his fur gently.  She really didn’t want to know where the wolf had acquired an ostrich, let alone a beach-dwelling kind, so she simply accepted that it happened. She had learned to accept a lot of things now that she was quite frequently traveling in the presence of gods.

The wolf whined and bumped his head against her hand, still keeping his jaws locked around his eventual lunch. He had the uncanny ability to alter his size when he wished, and usually he would adjust himself to be just big enough to be perfectly petting sized. What was even more unnerving was that he could adjust the size of whatever was grasped in his mouth, provided it wasn’t still alive.  There were quite a few times Hermione saw the wolf carrying around animals that should not have been able to fit in a wolf’s mouth. Ostriches, for one, a walrus, a narwhal, a salt-water crocodile, someone’s prized fair cow, and a countless list of other things Earth or alien found their way into Fenrisúlfr’s jaws.

Fenrisúlfr, to his credit, did not waste anything. He did, however, like to tote things around with him until he was ready to eat them. There lay another reason why taking the wolf in public an interesting exercise unto itself. Sure, you could glamour him to look like a German shepherd, but if said German Shepherd was noisily crunching away on an endangered Hawksbill Turtle in the middle of a landlocked park, how exactly did you not draw attention to yourself? Hermione found herself making donations to organisations such as Greenpeace and the World Wildlife Foundation after Fenrisúlfr dragged back the Hawksbill Turtle. As much as she supported the entire cycle of life, natural selection, and fact that Fenrisúlfr was about as apex of an example of an apex predator there was, she couldn’t help but think sadly upon witnessing something akin to unleashing a Tyrannosaurus Rex into a field of domestic cows. There were apex predators, and then there was a rampaging wolf god. Was there a line to be drawn? Hermione wasn’t sure anymore. She was pretty sure the chalk she would use to draw the line was surrendered the moment she became the embodiment of magic, and whatever chance she had of pretending she was anything else disappeared when she and Loki had consummated their relationship and their magic blended together.

Loki’s arm went around her waist, and Hermione smiled, leaning against his side. Their “human” heights made it so she couldn’t help but look up to him, but she tucked so perfectly under his chin, that neither of them were complaining. Her arms slid around his waist perfectly, and his held her to him as though when creation was being planned, their blueprints had been preordained. Perhaps, Hermione had thought, it hadn’t been so far off from the truth. What were the chances of one lonely God meeting a not-quite-so-mortal witch on the shores of a random beach?

“What has you so distracted?” Loki asked, nipping her collar lightly.

“Just thinking of when I first met Fenrisúlfr,” Hermione replied.

“My son is not known for his finesse in the art of first introductions,” he said with a sniff. The sunchaser wolf gave a soft whine and wag of his tail at Loki’s scowl.

“Do I blame the parents for this oversight in manners?” Hermione asked with a grin.

Loki huffed. “I believe I have adequate manners,” he said, trailing off. He frowned. “I fear Angrboða was not Frigga in any shape or form. Magical, she was a whirlwind. Mothering, she was more of a point child towards life and kick rear sort of parent.”

Hermione frowned. “There are times I almost forget what it was like growing up with a mother or father. I remember loving my parents very much, but some of the details have become lost along the way. I can’t remember… what I did for my sixteenth birthday, and human children are supposed to remember that forever.”

Loki tilted his head, rubbing her back with his hand. “I do not even remember being sixteen.”

“Sixteen hundred?” Hermione asked with a grin.

“Not even,” Loki laughed. “I do remember Thor getting rip-roaringly drunk on a number of occasions and proposing to Fandral thinking he was Sif.”

“From what you’ve told me,” Hermione said with an arched brow, “do either of them look remotely alike?”

Loki shrugged. “Æsir alcohol is known for its,” he paused to smile, “potency.”

Hermione read between the lines. “What did you put in the mead, lover?”

“Me?” Loki asked, adjusting his crooked halo. “Why the tone of accusation?”

Hermione went on her tip toes to place a kiss upon his lips. “Intuition,” she said into his breath.

Loki’s eyes flared red, a low rumbling growl started in his throat.

Hermione touched his cheek, soothing his skin and hair with a gentle brush of her affection and magic. The red faded from his eyes as the wild possessiveness faded into the background. God he may be, but she knew that sometimes he felt Hermione would come to her senses and leave him like so many others had in his mind. It was the same insecurity that had driven him to make up ways to prove himself worthy of the throne to All Father and so many other dastardly deeds against both Ásgarðr and Miðgarðr. She didn’t begrudge him the moments he felt he needed to practically rub his scent and magic all over her. There were times when she, too, wallowed in self doubt. Immortality did not erase such mortal insecurities.

Hermione halted her walk along the beach as a familiar sight came into view. She sighed softly in relief. It was still there.

“Is this the place?” Loki asked.

Hermione nodded silently, not trusting her voice.

The smell of sea lavender wafted towards them. A quaint little multiple-story cottage with more windows than walls sat comfortably in the middle of the beach. The triangular windows brought a smile to her face.

“Shell cottage,” she said softly, regaining her voice. “Bill and Fleur made their home here after they married in,” she trailed off as she tilted her head. Time had become so unimportant that most dates had faded from the need to retain them.

“1997,” she said after a while. “They raised their three kids here after the war. Dominique, Victoire, and Louis, I believe.”

“Did you not remain in contact with them?” Loki asked, seeing her sadness.

“Weasleys were, even at their worst, fanatically loyal to their family. Usually anyway,” Hermione answered. “When I couldn’t forgive Ron, it made things difficult for me. I think Molly had always expected me to marry into the family. Hell, I think Ron expected me to settle down and be a homemaker after the war was over and done. I did neither, and it made social times at the Burrow very… strained. At first, I remained good friends with Bill and Fleur. Fleur was always so much better than the family made her seem. She had this horridly thick French accent, but she had a heart of gold. She loved Bill with all her heart, and I think, sometimes, the rest of the family thought she were some presumptuous air-head that simply took pity on Bill after the werewolf attacked him.”

“It sounds as though you had a good friendship,” Loki noted. “What happened?”

Hermione forced a smile. “Ron got married to Lavender Brown and had children. And his children were always over visiting Bill and Fleur’s children. I sort of,” she forced a laugh. “Got lost in the fray. It was probably for the best,” she said. “It was around that time when whatever this is that I am happened to me and then the only person I trusted with my secret was Severus.”

“Why not your friend, Harry?” Loki asked, picking a shell up from the sand and throwing it towards the water. “He was there,” he said with a pause, “when it happened.”

Hermione looked sad. “Harry had enough on his plate, and he could carry guilt like you wouldn’t believe. I didn’t want him to suffer more on my account. He had already suffered more than the rest of us. Losing his parents, growing up in a house that made him sleep in a closet, then have a prophecy dumped in your lap that serves you up as a sacrifice to the Dark Lord was enough to break someone. He didn’t break, though. I can thank the gods for that.”

“You’re welcome,” Loki replied dryly, earning him a playful swat.

“You did seem to have a hand in some of the mischief we would get ourselves into,” Hermione confessed. “I can admit to that, now.”

Loki cocked an eyebrow at her.

“First year, Harry got his hands on an invisibility cloak,” Hermione said. “That was the start of many adventures. I may or may not have set Severus’ robes on fire back in the day.”

“You set your professor on fire?” Loki asked, face lighting up with mischief.

“To my defence,” Hermione protested. “I thought he was trying to kill Harry at the time.”

“I’m sure as he was burning that made a ton of difference,” Loki said, amused.

Hermione huffed. “I did apologise,” she said, “eight years after the fact. It was part of what started my friendship with Severus to begin with. Well,” she paused, “that and having stolen ingredients out of his potion storeroom in second year.”

Loki grinned from ear to ear. “I’m sure your other friends believed you so proper too. Did they even suspect you as being anything else?”

Hermione flushed, turning her head to the side in silence.

“So, you set a man on fire and stole from him,” Loki said with a grin, “and he befriends you?”

Hermione shook her head. “I’m sure he wanted to strangle me at first, but we were to be coworkers, and I really wanted to get that off my chest. Turns out, we had a lot in common, more so than we were ever allowed to realise when he was my professor. He had a depth to him that very few realised, I think, and a pain a spent countless years trying to ease.”

Loki seemed thoughtful. “I think that may be your calling,” he said softly. “Healing those with difficult pasts.” He stared off across the ocean and then at Fenrisúlfr, who was bounding down the beach in great leaps to chase the gulls. “That and forgiveness.”

Hermione snorted. “I think Ron would have disagreed about the forgiveness part.”

Loki smiled at her. “Forgiveness and retribution, then.”

Hermione scoffed, but Loki stared into her eyes, brushing her cheek with his thumb. “You scoff, my Lady, but I do not jest. You have healed something in me and my four-legged son that neither of us thought possible. There was a time not so long ago when the only free time I had was spent brooding on my next conquest and Fenrisúlfr thought only of destruction and pitiless murder.”

“To be fair, he did try to murder me,” Hermione chuckled.

Fenrisúlfr, who had managed to catch a seagull, trotted back to them with it in his mouth. His tail was held high and his head turned up in his pride at such an accomplishment. The gulls had thought themselves safe because they could fly. It had been a fatal miscalculation. Loki pressed his hand to the wolf’s giant head and gave a small smile. His child was still prone to kill things, but at least he ate them afterwards so there was no waste. Waste not, want not, and all that.

Hermione was staring towards the cottage, her body still as a statue. Loki touched her shoulder and then followed her gaze. Two children had run out of the cottage. One was a startling red-head, the other was a messy black-haired boy. “So much like Ginny and Harry,”

The children were chasing a magical beach ball across the sand and it was leading them towards both Hermione and Loki.

“Wait up, Sophie!” the boy yelled.

“Hurry up, Alex,” Sophie yelled. “The ball is getting away!”

Fenrisúlfr whined softly, gazing longingly towards the runaway ball.

Hermione touched his ear. “ Show them how it’s done.”

The wolf tore off down the beach after the escaping ball, snatched it up on his mouth, and trotted over to where the children were running to catch up.

The children panted and gasped as the giant wolf pranced up to them and deposited the ball in the sand, tail wagging.

“Well, this will set Ásgarðr into convulsions,” Loki said with a grin. “He took off Tyr’s hand back in the day, and now he’s playing fetch with human children. If Heimdall is watching, I’m sure he’s having a coronary.”

Hermione smiled, pressing her head against Loki’s shoulder. The children were giggling as they kicked the ball for Fenrisúlfr to chase, and the wolf tore after it like a furry wolf-shaped bullet. They had no idea what or who Fenrisúlfr was. The children were laughing, waving at them.

Loki chuckled. “Do you think their parents would approve of their children consorting with gods?”

“Speak for yourself,” Hermione huffed.

Loki’s eyes bled into crimson as his magic surged. “We we are bound, you and I,” he rumbled. “We are one. That makes you a goddess.”

“I’m not any person’s goddess, Loki,” Hermione protested.

Loki pressed his lips to hers. “You are to me, my Lady. Forever my goddess.” He said the last in a rumbling purr that caused Hermione to flush crimson.

The children chased Fenrisúlfr who had absconded with the ball and run towards Loki and Hermione.

“Come back!” the children yelled. “You’re too fast!”

They ran up to them, panting.

“Hello!” Sophie greeted.

“Hi!” Alex panted a greeting.

“Hello there, my young friends,” Hermione said softly, a gentle smile on her face.

“Are you magical?” Alex asked bluntly.

“Mummy says only witches and wizards can get to this place,” Sophie said.

“Hrm,” Hermione answered. “Well, if your mom says that only witches and wizards can get here, then what does that make us?”

“A wizard!” Alex crowed.

Hermione gave Loki a sidelong glance and a smile.

“She’s a witch,” Sophie said bossily, pointing her finger at Hermione. “She’s female.”

Fenrisúlfr dropped the slobbery beach ball to the ground and woofed softly.

Alex grabbed the drool-covered ball and wiped it on Sophie. She squealed and wiped herself against Alex.

“Alex! Sophie!” a call came from from the cottage. “Dinner!”

“Coming, mum!” they chimed.

“Nice meeting you!” the pair said, scurrying back towards the cottage.

Loki watched something flicker across Hermione’s face as she watched the children rush off towards the cottage. “What?” he asked.

“I want one,” she said wistfully.

Loki’s eyes widened as the magnitude of her words settled on him. He scooped her up into his embrace and twirled her around. “As you command, my goddess,” he purred.

* * *

 

The thing with being an incarnation of magic was that everything you did was somehow tied to the magic of your core, and if your core was magic itself, well, even sneezing had side-effects.

One morning, Hermione hurled her guts out into the snow, and it began to rain shellfish. Mind you, they ate very well that evening, and Fenrisúlfr was probably the fattest World Eater in the polar realms, but one could only cause apocalyptic shellfish rain so many times before you attracted the attention of S.H.I.E.L.D. or Heimdall.

The locals of the places they were visiting, however, weren’t complaining. One of her nausea attacks had caused it to beach an entire pod of whales on the shores of the arctic, feeding an entire of village of Inuit for the next year. Another incident caused a dormant volcano to erupt, and yet another caused a mouse plaque to take over Australia. Just when that was said, done, and over with, Hermione hurled her guts yet again while they were travelling in Ethiopia. The vast barren wasteland became a tropical paradise due to three months of steady rain and hidden springs sprouting up all over. Notably, Australia wasn’t very happy, but Ethiopia was on cloud nine.

Loki was cackling the entire time he held his mate’s hair away from her face. Their combined magical signatures had fused so closely together that her bursts of magic tapped into the chaos of his life-force, and it amused him to no end. They were irrevocably bound, and they required no paper marriage or formal ceremony to prove it so.

A few more months passed, and Hermione had unintentionally eradicated the mosquitoes from Canada, caused every freshwater lake in the UK to break out in pink pond lilies, and caused a bumper crop of sea urchins along the coast so vast that the endangered sea otter was making a come-back.

Loki found himself somewhat amused and annoyed as Hermione would break off from him in mid-conversation and dive for the loo, cursing in a language she’d picked up a few parsecs away from Alpha-Centauri. He didn’t hear all of it, but he picked up “bladder,”“bloody tap-dancing,” and “I’m going to kill them the moment they’re born, so help me.” They were pretty sure it was going to be twins. When he placed his ear to her belly, he got two separate sets of kicks to his face. It was just a guess, however, as neither of them really trusted going to a human doctor or even a Wizarding Healer due to “too many unanswerable questions” that could pop up.

On one peaceful night, however, Hermione had Loki by the throat as her teeth ground together audibly. “So help me, lover,” she hissed into his face. “You will get me chocolate frogs, licorice whips, and at least one pint of Florean Fortescue’s Sassy Peppermint Surprise ice cream or very bad things are going to happen.” Her eyes were flashing blue with the power of her magic.

Loki had never scrambled so fast in his life to obey.

An hour later, with all of the said ingredients combined and eaten, the wild and murderous look in his mate’s face looked less like she was going to make her lover a eunuch, and she accepted his embrace once more. Loki couldn’t help but think that he had staved off a not so minor Apocalypse in doing so. Not that Loki didn’t mind a little Apocalypse here and there, but he preferred to have such things on his terms.

When nine months came and went, Hermione began to get somewhat anxious.

“I want these liver kicking, bladder dancing, kidney punching interlopers out of my womb!” Hermione hissed.

It was around this time that Loki started whispering to his unborn children that perhaps they should get a move on the entire being born thing before their mother decided that remaining in a shape that was conducive to birthing wasn’t worth the trouble.

“That’s it,” Hermione growled one morning as she came out of the loo. “If you ever come near me again with your genetic material, it is going to be as an Australian Brush Turkey. That way, you can just build a mound, and I will lay the eggs into it, and I won’t have over nine months of THIS ever again!”

Loki admitted to himself shortly after that it was a good thing he had centuries of practice placating gods and hundred thousand different species, because the idea of the only way of sharing intimacy with his mate as a brush turkey was not appealing in the slightest. Hermione accepted his reassurance, physical massages, and warm nibbles as she lay against him, and he breathed a sigh of relief. He had never asked Frigga about what it had been like to carry his brother to term, and the giantess Angrboða had literally sequestered herself in a frozen cave for the term of her pregnancy, only accepting food offerings through a small hole that was not barricaded.

Despite the quirks of Hermione’s pregnancy, she seemed to prefer his comfort, and that brought no small measure of peace to the God of Lies. Their life together, short of her chaotic flare-ups of magic, seemed so terribly normal. He did wonder if the length of the pregnancy was chaotic due to their combined magic. A human pregnancy, she was fond of complaining, was nine months, and the part of her that remembered her human body best was ready to kick her babies out of their free apartment with no forwarding address.

The pair decided that they needed to craft aliases for themselves in order to slip into the current time-line. With children on the way, it was agreed that they should probably be educated in whatever “normal” manner humans were being educated. Hermione shoved him as he described the educational system as “whatever.”

Deciding on a last name proved to be more difficult than they had originally planned on. Hermione argued that they should have a shared last name, and she wasn’t exactly the son of Laufey or Odin, so that would have been awkward to explain.

“I will not have the last name Ragnarök, Loki Laufeyson, and that is final!” Hermione scowled at him. One hand was on her swollen belly and the other was pointing a wand at his face.

Loki made a pouting face. “We need something on our marriage certificate!” he protested.

“Our last name will not be the end of the world!” Hermione scowled, channelling a distinctively Snape expression.

“Skjeggestad?” Loki volunteered.

Hermione growled. “I will not take the name that means some bloke with a beard’s place.”

“Wolff?”

“Do we really want people thinking we’re a family of werewolves?” Hermione sighed.

Fenrisúlfr woofed lowly in commentary, tail wagging.

“Hush you,” Hermione said to the wolf, rubbing him between the ears.

“Solberg,” Loki said with a quirk of his lips.

Hermione looked like she was ready to spit out a no, but she paused, letting the name roll across her tongue a few times. “I do find the idea of sun and mountains appealing, considering where we are living.” She lowered her wand and tucked it away.

Loki came up to her and pressed his face into her neck. “Solberg it is then.”

“Mrr,” Hermione purred. “So… first names?”

“I like my name,” Loki sniffed.

“And the name of the God of Lies is so easy to conceal,” Hermione snorted.

Loki pouted.

“I have to change mine as well,” Hermione sighed.

“Helen,” Loki said. “For you are my bright and shining light.”

Hermione’s eyes widened and she blushed radiantly.

Loki smiled at her. Perfect.

“Leif,” Hermione purred at him.

“You would call me ‘descendant’ in Scandinavian?” Loki looked dubious.

“Dearly loved in Swedish,” Hermione replied with a sniff. “And the Americans seem to think so too.”

Loki made a face, mumbling, “Well, I suppose that works—”

Hermione pressed her lips to his, silencing the rest of what he was mumbling.

Loki growled into her mouth, pulling her close to him, devouring her mouth as his arms embraced her. He pulled back with great effort. “Leif it is then.” Red was bleeding into his eyes as he stroked her cheek with thumb.

Hermione grinned at him.

They did decide to prepare for the eventual arrival of their genetic spawn by moving to somewhere a little closer to “home” for Hermione. They settled somewhere that was considered “close by Wizarding standards” to society. They found a decent acreage in Cairngorms, Scotland that no one wanted because of how difficult it was to get there and found it perfect. They built a small cottage to make for the appearance of being normal, gave themselves an actual address, set up the house and yard to actually look lived in, and then proceeded to carve a nice hidden sanctuary into the mountain called Sgòr an Lochain Uaine. Both of them agreed that calling it “home” was much easier and less traumatic to remember.

Fenrisúlfr made himself at home by promptly digging a burrow into the snow, and both Loki and Hermione declared their new hibernation sanctuary fit to be, well, hibernated in and whatever else a god and his mate did with incoming spawn on the way. The World Wolf seemed optimistic that his incoming brothers or sisters might be of the four legged variety as well, and Hermione lamented that she didn’t want to suckle puppies on her breasts. Loki had made some comment in regards to what he could do with said mammaries, and proceeded to chase his pregnant mate around the sanctuary until they were both curled up together in a panting and laughing heap.

Hermione traced the lines marked upon his skin as they lay together. “I don’t think you’d recognise you if the person you were when I first met you saw you today.”

“Hrm?” Loki purred, pressing his face into her hair.

“Would any of your old friends recognise you now?” Hermione asked. “Well, personality wise.”

Loki shrugged, taking in a large breath. “I chose evolution to stagnation.” He placed his hand over her swollen belly. “Life instead of subjugation. Do you doubt it?”

Hermione shook her head, laying her head against his shoulder. “Nay, my love, I do not. You are here with me now. That is what matters to me.”

“I miss our flights together or our prowls,” he admitted. “Do you?”

“You have given me a taste of what it is like to shed one form to another,” Hermione said. “It is hard to stay in this one shape feeling limited and trapped.”

He rubbed her belly with a caress. “But you do this for me?”

“For us, yes,” she said with a nudge of her head against his shoulder. “However, if they don’t get a move on soon, I’m going to make like a whale and give birth at sea.”

Loki laughed warmly, pressing his lips to her temple with a kiss. “I keep whispering to them not to piss off their mother before they are even born, but it seems they are resistant to suggestion.”

“Much like their father,” Hermione said with a grin.

Loki turned his head to look at her, an affronted look on his face. “My Lady? Do you truly think me so resistant to change?”

Hermione chuckled. “We are both resistant to change, beloved. Our sense of time all the more strange now that we are together.”

Loki seemed thoughtful. “There was a time when I thought I could not run fast enough, be quick enough, or respond swift enough to all the things around me and now,” he trailed off. “Now, I am content as long as you are here with me.”

Hermione exhaled sadly. “I grew up believing I would never be good enough, skilled enough, or interesting enough to catch the eye of anyone. By the time the war was done, I was so weary, I had lost all interest in relationships after Ron. My bitterness over him leaving us in the woods tainted every relationship I might have had. Even Viktor, who had done nothing wrong. He treated me like a queen, but I had nothing left to give at the time he needed me to. By the time I was ready to open myself up again, I got thrown into a magical binding circle and turned into a magical living abnormality, and well, we know how that ended.”

“With me,” Loki said plainly, running his finger down her nose. His ruby eyes were flashing with their own fire.

Hermione chuckled. “So it did.”

“Do you regret it?” he asked, a frown on his face. “Being bound to one such as I?”

“Never,” she said, placing her hand to his cheek and soothing her fingers through his black hair. “I think it was something we both needed. Even if we didn’t figure that out you so rudely interrupted my stimulating conversation with Severus somewhere between the now and wherever it is we go when we die.”

Loki shuddered. “I thought I’d lost you—to my own arrogance.”

Hermione pulled him close to her, soothing his hair gently. God he may be, but he was capable of all the faults mortals and then some. Gods tended to make larger messes when they mucked things up. Hermione knew she was guilty of her own snafus all the same, and Loki was always there to help her out of it. The least she could do was be there to help him out of his, even as epic as they were. She was not a god, but she was no longer someone whose mistakes could always be overlooked. She’d caused crustaceans to rain down from the sky as she hurled and pods of whales to beach themselves. She was pretty sure if she stuck her foot into something horrible that the ramifications would be epic. Her magic and his were bound together, woven so tightly that the end and beginning of hers and his were no longer discernible. If she could cause rain in Africa due to a little nausea, what was she capable of if she lost control of her emotions? What was going to happen when she finally gave birth?

Hermione groaned.

Loki murmured into her ears. “What troubles you?”

“Just thinking if these two finally decide to stop squatting in my uterus,” she moaned. “What horribly random things are going to happen to this world if just morning sickness causes me to rain down shellfish and crustaceans.”

Loki grinned at her. “I’m sure it will be excellent entertainment.”

Hermione huffed. “For you!”

Loki pressed his lips to hers. “For us, my mate. For us.” He leaned down to kiss her belly. “We can make it a family affair.”

* * *

 

As the tenth month rolled around, Hermione served her eviction notice to her uterine squatters and her contractions began. Curses in about fifteen different languages spewed forth from her normally pristine lips, she was face-bathed constantly by Fenrisúlfr’s dutiful tongue, and she attempted to wrench Loki’s hand, wrist, and arm off in random order.

Loki, having never been able to attend Angrboða during her birthing session, found himself in entirely new waters. In his head, he had read enough material to not be a complete head case, and they had watched many Muggle and alien parenting videos while roaming together. They were pretty sure they wouldn’t have to avoid tentacles like the sea aliens of Nimbus 4, nor would they have to be ready with fire extinguisher in case Hermione spontaneously burst into flames like the residents of Omnicron-Ceti-3H-2. At least, Loki silently prayed to himself, he hoped so.

With every scream that issued from Hermione’s very healthy lungs, the Aurora Borealis spontaneously broke out over Scotland as well as a few other random places in the world, the Boston Zoo shut down early to contain what might be the world’s first Mastodon stampede, twelve suspension bridges around the world were inexplicably painted purple with pink polka-dots, fireworks that looked disturbing like Weasleys’ Wildfire Whiz-bangs went off over capital cities around the world, the S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters and Avengers’ base of operations were abruptly swarmed with giant herds of hyper baby goats, and there were over fifty sightings of the supposedly extinct Tazmanian thylacines in New Mexico, USA. If that wasn’t enough to keep everyone who might have been looking for Loki busy, a Roc landed on the Statue of Liberty and started to build a nest out of fallen trees, Nessie was spotted in Loch Ness by sixteen children with cell phone cameras, and Japan was pretty sure Godzilla was trying to take out Mothra in the middle of downtown Tokyo.

All of these things, however, neither Hermione or Loki were paying attention to, because Hermione was trying to squeeze the life out of her mate’s hand while she pushed her uterine interlopers out, and Loki was praying that the skeleton of a Jötunn was as resilient as he hoped it was.

With a hissing scream, Hermione pushed, and, in a gush of fluid, a baby slid out from between her legs and into the arms of a very baffled looking Frigga.

“Mother?” Loki wrapped his voice around the word like it was foreign.

“Loki, my son,” Frigga said in confusion. “Where are… what…?”

Hermione screamed once more.

“Not that I’m not happy to see you, mother,” Loki said as he winced as Hermione squeezed his hand, “but if you could please handle whatever else is poised to come out of that birth canal—”

Frigga seemed to collect her thoughts enough to snip the umbilical, dipped the baby in her arms into the bathing bowl and wrapped him in a towel, placing him in the nearby cradle. She smoothly caught the next baby just in time and had him washed and wrapped with practised care. A few minutes after that, Hermione passed the afterbirth, and collapsed back on the bed with a series of ragged pants. “Pregnancy is overrated,” Hermione groaned. “Never again.”

Loki stroked her hair, whispering to her, and pressed his lips to her temple. Fenrisúlfr padded over to the cradles and sniffed inside each one, tail wagging furiously.

“Fine,”Hermione grunted, allowing Loki to dote over her, “but next time we get to be sea-horses and you get to carry the babies in your pouch.”

Loki stared down at her with emotion flaring across his ruby eyes. He pressed his forehead to hers and smiled.

Frigga dutifully cleaned up Hermione from her ordeal, pulled clean covers over her, and proceeded to sit down in the nearby armchair with a weary sigh.

Hermione gazed over to Frigga as her curiosity rose to the surface. “Not to seem ungrateful, er, your Highness, but I was under the impression you were dead.”

Loki, having pulled himself out of the haze of becoming a father, seemed to be at a loss. “I thought she was.”

Frigga ran her hand through her silvering hair. “I thought I was too.”

Loki and Hermione exchanged glances.

Hermione groaned. “I told you something strange was going to happen when I gave birth. I just figured it would rain shellfish again.”

“I’m not complaining, mother,” Loki said softly, staring from his mate to his once dead mother with a little awe, “but I am not sure how to react.”

Frigga shook her head. “I’m not either.”

Hermione winced as she shifted her weight. “I recommend being happy, if you don’t mind my recommendation,” she said with a twinge of pain. “The twins now have a grandmother.”

Fussing cries came from the cradle, and Fenrisúlfr woofed lowly.

Frigga, driven perhaps by some motherly instinct based in countless years of tending her own offspring, stood up and cradled the two newborns in her arms. Her eyes glassed over as the twins stopped crying and burbled at her, tiny fireworks went off in the air around them. “I believe your new sons are undoubtedly yours, my son,” Frigga said as she handed one babe to each of the parents.

Both Hermione and Loki stared into the faces of their new children. They were, undoubtedly, identical twins. They had the same sulphur orange eyes, burbling smiles, and two pairs of black and orange furred fox ears on their heads. Each of them had bright orange-red hair on their heads.

“Well, I think I know what I’ll call you, my darling,” Hermione cooed to the infant, making his ears perk forward and the baby babble happily. “Friðr.” She eyed the other infant. “And since once twin cannot be without the other. You, my other foxy son, are George.”

Loki’s eyebrows went up into his hair. He stared down at the fox-eared blazingly red-haired child. “Not to doubt your fidelity, my love, but neither of us have red hair.”

“Says the god who gave birth to an eight-legged horse,” Hermione muttered with a deep intake of breath. “Honestly,” she huffed. “Their hair isn’t just red, my love. It is on FIRE.”

* * *

 

When Thor landed via the Bifrost in the strangely normal looking yard, he froze in place. Two fiery red-headed children were staring back at him and his raised hammer with curiosity. The return of his mother, Frigga, had caught Ásgarðr completely by surprise or onto its rear,  depending on how you looked at it.  And if the return of his mother wasn’t enough of a shock, her story of how she had come back to the realms was even more shocking.

Loki, it seemed, had chosen a life that did not involve the subjugation of the realms. However Thor, who had spent hundreds of years trying to redeem his brother only to be tricked and betrayed by him, didn’t believe it. When Heimdall had spoken with All-Father about what he had seen, Odin seemed strangely  relieved. He had lifted his banishment of Loki from Ásgarðr and told Thor to take the news to Loki.

So, it wasn’t a large surprise that Thor came down ready to have an  epic battle between he and his brother.  He had come prepared, weapon in hand, mind on alert, and ready to dodge all manner of magical energy being thrown at his face, but the attack never came. Instead, the two children, who looked no older than five, stared at him.

One was sucking on some sort of lollipop, and the other was biting the head off of a chocolate frog.  “You must be Thor,” one of the boys said, stuffing the remains of a chocolate frog into the large wolf’s mouth with his arm. The boy stuck his entire arm into the wolf’s mouth, and the great beast tolerated it, waiting for the boy to remove it before mouthing the offering and making it disappear.

Horror washed over him as he realised who the wolf was.

“Fenrisúlfr,” Thor said, clutching his hammer tightly. That wolf had taken his brother’s hand.

Fenrisúlfr eyed him watchfully, lips pulling back from his teeth. The wolf remembered him. Thor and his kin had been the ones to betray him by playing a “game” with him. They had tried to bind him using a hundred different types of rope, and on the final one, Fenrisúlfr had only allowed it if one of them would place their arm into his mouth as a “gesture of good faith.” The end result was the binding of the great wolf with Gleipnir, the loss of Tyr’s hand, and a broken trust that made Fenrisúlfr’s hatred for the Æsir legendary.

Fenrisúlfr had been bound to a great rock with a sword between his jaws to await Ragnarök, but his presence laying between the two children seemed to prove that someone had rescued him from his fate. The wolf obviously remembered Thor. The wolf’s hackles were standing straight on end as a low growl rumbled in his throat.

Strangely, one boy grabbed Fenrisúlfr’s muzzle and clamped it shut. “Hush, brother,” the one said. “You’ll wake dad.”

The other boy nodded, grabbing the wolf by the ear and tweaking it.

The wolf whined softly, tail wagging.

“You can let him go, Friðr,” the one boy said, releasing the wolf’s ear.

Friðr shrugged and let go of the armlock he had on the wolf’s jaws. He tapped the wolf on the muzzle. Fenrisúlfr opened his maw, and the boy tossed in the remains of his sandwich. The boy closed the wolf’s jaws with his hands and manually guided the wolf to make him chew. The wolf eyed the boy with tolerance, his tongue shot out to lick the boy across the face. Friðr giggled and clambered over the wolf’s back and sat on top of him.

Thor was both slightly horrified and ashamed. If this was the true face of Fenrisúlfr, the Æsir had done their part in creating the horrible rampaging monster they had tried to contain. The giant wolf, however, had not forgiven or forgotten despite his faithful tolerance to the children. His deep yellow eyes stared murderously at Thor and his weapon.

Thor awkwardly lowered his hammer. “I am here to speak to my brother,” he said after a moment.

“I wouldn’t,” the nameless of the two boys said. He held out his lollipop, and Thor crinkled his face as the wolf licked it and the boy put it back in his mouth as if it were the most natural thing to do to share. “Dad is sleeping.”

“You don’t bother them when they are sleeping,” Friðr said with a nod.

Thor frowned. His mother had been quite vague on what to expect when he came down to deliver the news. Heimdall had been very cryptic as to what he had seen over the years, and Odin was the master of saying something like he should know the answers. The truth was, Thor still didn’t feel like he had any of the answers, and he wasn’t going to hang upside on the Yggdrasill like Odin to gain enlightenment.

Tired of being given half answers, Thor shook his head and marched into the open door of the house.

Friðr and George exchanged glances with each other and then Fenrisúlfr.

“Father isn’t going to be happy,” George said as he sucked on his lollipop.

“Mum is going to be cranky,” Friðr lamented. “Even we know better than to wake them up from a nap.”

“Do you think it will rain licorice?” George asked excitedly.

Friðr shook his head. “If mom is cranky, it might rain coconuts again or mangosteens.”

George perked. “I love mangosteens!”

Friðr shrugged, holding his hand out to George. The other boy used it to pull himself onto Fenrisúlfr’s back and the wolf stood up and bounded around the yard with the two boys clinging to his back.

* * *

 

Thor found the house quiet. There was a tinge of cold as though the frost had settled in, and the fragrance of hyacinths. There were toys scattered about the floor, open books on the tables, and scribbled drawings of epic battles and dragons drawn in finger paint.

The living room looked more like a classroom. There were hanging alphabets in various languages, pictures with multiple meanings written in Earth and alien languages, and what looked like cauldron with various jars of unidentified ingredients sitting around it. Mortars and pestles were laid out in neat organisation by size, and there was a chalk board with glowing letters written on it describing something known as “Gamp’s Law of Elemental Transfiguration” which Thor had no clue what it was referring to.

“Brother, are you here?” Thor called, knocking on the nearby table.

Thor scratched his head. He saw one door that was decorated with glowing runes that spelt out “Friðr” and “George.” There was another door connecting off the main room that had a snow-like curtain across it.

“Brother?” Thor called again, stepping towards the room with the curtain. He moved the curtain aside with one hand and looked in. He found it hard to focus, so he stepped in. His eyes squinted in the dimness, and he caught the decor that looked so very much like Loki’s room back in Ásgarðr. Bookshelves were full of various tomes. Open books were laying out on the desks, writing quills stood ready, and parchments lay strewn across the tables. Great maps were hung on the walls, and epic tapestries decorated the windows.

Small gemmed goblets that looked like the handiwork of Frigga sat in various places, and on the far wall was a four-poster bed that looked much like the one Loki had in his chambers at the palace. Heavy curtains hung from the top, casting the bed in shadow.

“Brother,” Thor repeated. “Father sent me to speak with you.”

He sighed and decided to do what he normally did to wake his brother up, stormed up, and threw back the curtains and the quilt. “Wake up, brot—”

Thor’s eyes went wide as he stared down onto the bed. Loki was not alone. Never in his life had Loki shown any sort of passing interest in the fairer sex in Ásgarðr, and Thor’s brain was whimpering with the revelation. His brain finally clicked together that the children out in front riding around on the giant wolf were not some hidden children of Angrboða. They were Loki’s recent children with a… mistress?

Loki, in his Jötunn glory, lay entwined with a female. His blue arms were wrapped around the woman as he had her cradled to his chest. She was smaller than he was, tucked under his chin and against his body like a puzzle piece. The light chemise she was wearing left her arms and legs quite exposed now that the quilt was gone.

The woman stirred now that the quilt was gone, and she took in a deep breath and opened her eyes. Her brown eyes flicked to Thor, and suddenly they filled with electric blue magic. She vaulted out of the bed, had her hand out as a branch came flying to her hand, and she waved it, tumbling Thor backwards as the curtains to the bed went slamming shut.

“It is considered rude to come calling without sending word first, Thor, son of Odin,” the irate woman seethed, her hair writhing about her head like snakes. She stood to her full height, and despite the fact that she stood to his chin at best, she carried herself with the presence that more than made up for her lack of stature. Her one arm gestured outward and robes came to her beck and call, wrapping themselves around her to cover her knickers without her even having to lift a finger.

“My Lady,” Thor stumbled over his words as he stumbled backwards from the irate witch. Flames were coming off  her now, whipping around her like a cyclone. He tripped over a plush dragon and what might have been the chewed-on-femur of something extraordinarily large. “I’m sorry, I had no idea my brother had a mistr—”

The blazing witch had a stick in her hand and she pressed it into his throat with a snarl on her lips. Her hair was blazing around her in literal flames, and she hissed, “Do not even think of completing that sentence, or I will see how you can speak when your tongue is langlocked to the roof of your mouth.”

The irate woman held her hand out her finger, and Thor found himself being pushed out of the house by an invisible force.

“You will stay out here until the house is fit to be seen, and you will wait until Loki is awake enough to greet you properly, Mr. Odinson,” the small woman seethed as the door closed in his face.

Thor winced in pain as something bounced off his head.

He picked up a small dark purple fruit from the ground. It had a hard outer skin that did not yield when pressed. He tapped it with his fingernail just before another slammed into his head. “Ow!”

“Mangosteens!” the boys that were running around the yard cried with joy. They grabbed a set of baskets and threw them over Fenrisúlfr’s back. “Help us gather them, brother!” The giant wolf stood still to let them strap the baskets onto his withers and then trotted with them as they picked the fruit off the ground. The two boys frantically ran around the yard and threw the fruits into the baskets on Fenrisúlfr’s back.

Thor was rubbing his head as something large, oval, and green smacked him on the head, followed by another, and countless others fell from the sky.

“Coconuts!” one of the twins whooped. “Dad must be awake!”

“Hurry, Fenrisúlfr!” one of the boys cheered. “Let’s empty the baskets and collect the coconuts!”

Thor rubbed his head as a green coconut slammed into the ground near him and split open, exposing a dark brown seed. No wonder that hurt. His mind vaguely tried to remind him of something the boy had said about his father being awake, when the door opened and Loki stormed out. A blast of magical energy jolted into him, flinging his brother into the air and into the side of the mountain.

“You are the most shameless, ungracious, and uncouth ignoramus, brother,” Loki raged. “How dare you storm into my bedroom and stare at my mate in her a state of undress!”

A large green coconut slammed into Thor in a place that made him see every star in the cosmos in triplicate.

An hour later, the twins and a worn out wolf lay next to two large piles of mangosteens and coconuts. In front of them lay Mjölnir, forgotten and abandoned in the dirt.

Friðr poked the hammer with his toe as he peeled a mangosteen and offered half of the sweet fruit within to the wolf. “I wonder if all family meetings are going to be like this,” he said idly.

George peeled a nearby coconut of the green outer husk and then whacked the brown seed against a nearby rock as he rotated it until it broke in half. He chewed on one half and gave the other half to the wolf.

Fenrisúlfr wagged his tail and munched happily, his golden eyes watching his Sire magically beating the living daylights out of his brother for showing up unexpected and witnessing his mate in a state of undress.

It was a beautiful day.

High above in Ásgarðr, the Æsir Heimdall looked down towards Miðgarðr and smiled with mischief all his own.

Things were looking entertaining after all.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I tend to use the Old Norse spellings for things because to me it makes more sense, strangely enough, even though it means I have to add an extra “l” to Yggdrasil, use funky letters in Æsir, Miðgarðr, and Angrboða as well as using Friðr instead of Fred. Hey, someone had to remember the crazy letters! I also pulled some from the actual Norse Mythology over the Marvel-only universe as I saw fit to make it fit within my story. Sorry if that confuses you Marvel geeks out there, but I am more rooted in the myth than the Marvel, not that I’m an expert in either. I hope you enjoyed the chapter all the same. Thank you for your support so far.
> 
> A/N: Thanks to meldz on proper mangosteen opening procedure. I will admit, when I was taught to open them, we used a box cutter to peel back the outer husk because they were a bit old. The insides were still awesome, though! (That’s what you get when you have them shipped halfway around the world…)


	4. Enter Sandman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thor sometimes finds his "co-workers" insufferable.  
> The twins ask Thor odd questions.  
> Hermione discovers that her ravenous brood has left the pantry clean of pumpkin juice. What's a witch to do?

**Beta love:** fluffpanda, the most wonderous, the most merciful, and the tolerant to my late night escapades.

* * *

**Chapter 4: Enter Sandman**

"So, who do you think this woman is?" a woman in skin-tight leather asked. "Did he magic some poor woman to have his children?"

"Thor says she is his brother's Lady," a man answered as he typed away at a monitoring console.

"So, because Thor says his brother is not to be bothered, we just stop looking for him?" the woman asked with a scowl.

"Not just because Thor said it, Joanne," the man replied. "The entire Æsir has requested that we leave them alone."

"Bradley, " Joanne said, slamming her first down on the table. "This guy almost took over the world. How do we turn our heads against someone like that?"

Bradley turned in his chair and stared at the woman. "This isn't a human with a few years under their belt, Joanne. He is a God. We have to trust the judgement of the other Gods to decide. If we go against their request, we have an entire pantheon after us. You read the reports of what one God did. You saw the damage we did trying to contain that one god. If Thor tells us to leave our nose out of it, and HQ tells us to leave our nose out of it. We leave our nose out of it."

"What if this woman is being brainwashed?" Joanne insisted. "Classic Stockholm Syndrome!"

"You've read the file on Loki, right?" Bradley grunted. "Do you really think Loki would spend longer than a day with someone that couldn't hold their own against him?"

Joanne pointed to the file in front of her. "They say she's human. How does a human garner his attention?"

Bradley shook his head. "You're going there? You, who sets herself on fire for a living?"

Joanne crossed her arms across her chest, huffing.

"If there can be humans like you, Joanne," Bradley said, drumming his fingers against his arms, "surely you believe that it is possible for a human to be born that catches the eye of a god? Look close to home. There was Jane Foster."

"Yeah, well, you see how well that ended for her," Joanne grumbled.

"She died of natural causes at the ripe old age of 143 surrounded by people that loved her," Bradley scoffed. "How is that a bad ending?"

"If he had really cared for her—"

"I would have done exactly what I did," Thor's voice said steely from the doorway. His knuckles were white as his anger crackled around him. Bolts of electricity whipped around him. "Let her live an exceptionally long and healthy mortal life that she chose to live. She chose mortality, and I respected her choice."

"Thor, I'm—" Joanne began.

Thor glared at the female agent with disgust. "You will leave your speculation over my brother's Lady out of conversation. She is what is keeping him from," he paused to ponder the right euphemism, "raining on your parade." He towered over Joanne, glaring down at her from his intimidating height. "If anything happens to her because of you, you will deal with me." Thor's face twisted in an almost Loki worthy smirk. "Provided he doesn't get to you first."

The God of Thunder swept the room, his electricity wrecking havoc on the computer systems of the room. Bradley cursed, hitting one panel with a fire extinguisher. "Well, now we definitely won't be tracking anyone until I can get this system back up and running."

Joanne slammed her fist down on the desk, sending a flaming fork towards one of the readout monitors. The fork embedded into the screen with a crack, causing smoke to rise from the centre of the screen.

Bradley sprayed the screen with the fire extinguisher and glared at her. "You get to fill out the paperwork for this! I am not going to try and explain to the higher ups why my screens are down because you had to piss off a god this morning!"

Joanne stormed out of the monitoring room, her body wreathed in fire.

Bradley curled his lip and slapped his palm to his forehead. "Wonderful. This is what we get when we hire on people who ran away from Xavier's School for the Gifted."

-o-o-o-o-o-o-

"Why is it you never change clothes?" Friðr asked.

"What?" Thor asked as he watched George use Mjölnir as a croquet mallet.

Friðr shrugged his shoulders as he cradled a hedgehog in his hands. "You are always wearing," Friðr said as he tapped Thor's breastplate and tugged on his cape. "Achoo cray mow."

Thor looked at him a little oddly.

" _Accoutrement_ , idiot," George said, shaking his head. He hit the ball through the arch and Fenrisúlfr took after it like a bullet. "Ack! Brother! Come back with my ball!"

"Hey, no need to resort to insults," Thor said with a shake of his head.

Friðr tapped on his breastplate again, and with each tap it changed into a different colour.

"It is armour," Thor said with furrowed brow. "I cannot leave Ásgarðr without it."

"Will you die without it?" Friðr asked.

"Erm, no," Thor replied.

"It must be uncomfortable to wear all the time," Friðr said. "What if you really have to use the loo?"

Thor shifted uncomfortably. "That really hasn't been an issue."

"Can you shapeshift like mum and dad?" Friðr asked bluntly.

Thor blinked. "No, I do not do… magic."

"Why not?"

"I," Thor began. "I was never drawn to it."

"Why?"

Thor closed his eyes, wondering if their conversation was going to end in a thousand whys. "Magic is not as common in Ásgarðr as it is in Miðgarðr.

Oddly enough Friðr shook his head and seemed to chew on that without asking why. "That makes no sense," he said at last. He stood up and went chasing off after his brother. The boy leapt onto the back of the giant wolf with a whoop of excitement, and the pair went racing across the valley.

Thor looked on, retrieving his poor Mjölnir from the ground. Looking after the twins had become a regular occurrence. Sometimes it was him, sometimes it was Frigga, sometimes it was Sif or the Warriors Three but it had become a family affair. At first, Thor wondered what would cause the pair to need babysitters for their children, but his curiosity was answered when he realised that Loki and Hermione could no more resist the drive to sleep than All Father could. Often, Loki stayed awake just long enough to sequester himself and Hermione in a safe place and post Fenrisúlfr as a guard over the twins. Heimdall would send word to Frigga, and someone would go down and serve as the temporary guardians over the children.

Strangely enough, Thor realised that the twins had done something that nothing Thor or Loki could have done on their own could do: bring peace between Ásgarðr and Loki as well as healing of the brotherly bond that Thor and Loki had once shared. They still bickered, argued, and had epic disagreements, but they made up afterwards, usually having to piece back together whatever they destroyed while having their argument as "penance" for their fights.

Odin seemed to approve of his "grandchildren," and Frigga had blessed the union as being a true match of fate. After both Angrboða's death and Loki's original wife, Sigyn, having disappeared sometime after Loki escaped and Fenrisúlfr was released back into the world, many had thought Loki would never allow himself anymore more than a casual relationships. Both Odin and Frigga seemed extremely happy to bless the coupling of Loki with Hermione.

Sigyn had never been quite right in the head after having her son Váli transformed into a wolf to attack and kill her second son, Narfi. If that wasn't enough, having had to watch her husband tied and bound to stones deep within the earth with the guts of her disembowelled son didn't do her any favours. Thor had to admit that his father's judgement at the time hadn't exactly been his brightest or shiniest moment of peace over war. If anything, Odin was living up to his entire Óðinn **,** God of Battle and Frenzy moniker in full that space in time. Sure, he was also known for healing, royalty, knowledge, the runic alphabet, and even poetry, but when people thought of what had happened to Sigyn and her sons, well, healing and poetry wasn't on the table. That was when death, the gallows, battle, and frenzy came to mind. His father was, if anything, a mixed bag of godly traits. Some of them, the Æsir preferred to sweep under the divine carpet or hide behind the celestial tapestries of All-Father hanging by his feet from Yggdrasil in order to gain knowledge.

There were times when Thor wondered what happened to Sigyn. Loki had never shown much of an interest in her, and what interest he did was terribly formal. The fact that she bore him two sons truly meant nothing to Loki other than obligation at the time, and while he had provided for them back in the day, his willingness to lay with Angrboða seemed to prove that their marriage had been anything but mutual love. Loki was, even then, a creature of magic. Sigyn, however, was not. Goddess she may have been, but she was as far opposite of Loki in personality and interests as fire and water were the best of friends.

Oddly enough, All-father seemed to have forgotten that he had cast his adopted son into the earth to be tortured by snake venom until Ragnarök. He seemed equally forgetful that it had been his preoccupation with staving off Ragnarök that had gotten most of them into trouble to begin with. Loki had not started off "evil" anymore than the fast-growing Fenrisúlfr that had been poised to devour Odin the moment he was born. No, the Æsir had their own hand in many horrible deeds. It wasn't that Loki was innocent of horrible things in his own right because he was, but Thor had a feeling things would have been different if he had listened to his brother's pleads for him to not rush head first into battle like his warmonger of a father. If he had trusted Loki back when he really need to be trusted and accepted, many things may have changed. It was all under the bridge now; however, nothing could be done be done to change the past.

Thor's thoughts returned to Hermione and how different she was from his beloved Jane. Unlike the drama that had come with Jane Foster, Odin did not call Lady Hermione the "goat at the dinner table" as he had once called Jane. Even though Thor knew that Odin had his reasons for wishing his son to pick someone that was capable of sharing his long life span, Thor had treasured his time with Jane Foster. Her spending time in Ásgarðr had extended her human life well beyond her normal lifespan, but eventually, she had passed on. She had been surrounded in friends, and she had been content. While Thor missed her, he did not regret having shared his life with her.

Lady Hermione, Thor realised, had nothing she desired to prove. She did not attempt to prove her place amongst Ásgarðr, nor did she attempt to prove her place at Loki's side. Unlike Jane, she cared not what others thought of her. She was polite, courteous, and stood up for herself, but she did not go out of her way to prove anything.

"Why is it that you do not rise to prove yourself?" Thor had asked Hermione as they watched the twins learning combat from Sif and the Warriors Three. "Do you not wish to test your prowess against others?"

Hermione had chuckled. "I spent my childhood doing nothing but trying to prove myself against both wizard, witch, and society. I tried to prove myself to my parents, my teachers, my peers, and my adversaries. I stood up against a culture that judged me to be insignificant because of my blood. I am done trying to prove myself against those who would judge me lacking without knowing me. In the end, perhaps they will face me in battle, and we will see who is the better."

Thor had thought it strange that she never wished to practice whatever arts it was she had at her command, but then it dawned on him why. One day, when he had stepped from the Bifrost, he saw Hermione and Loki duelling each other on the shore of the beach.

Great blasts of magic went zinging from one to the other. Flames in the shapes of dragons buffeted back and forth between them, waves of water, cyclones, electric storms, fireballs, and countless spells he knew little of passed back and forth between both his brother and Hermione. They held nothing back. Sometimes Loki's hair would smolder where she hit him with something. Sometimes Hermione would end up half trapped with her legs engulfed in ice. Both would eventually break free, sending a flurry of retaliation towards the other. The end was usually the both of them being flung in opposite direction to land flat on their back, but regardless of who "won" the winner extended a hand for the loser to get back on their feet.

Thor realised why Lady Hermione didn't test her strength with others: she was learning from his brother. His brother taught her in the one language she knew intimately: magic.

It was not, however, these brazen shows of magic that instilled a bit of realisation in the back of his mind. It was the strange tenderness in his brother as he taught Hermione how to tap into the unfamiliar magic they shared. Loki showed a strange tolerance and patience to his teachings. Even when Hermione had a temper tantrum and ended up doing something "the normal way," Loki would either wait for her to calm down or engulf her in his arms and pin the witch against him the chaotic energies that flared up with her emotions changed from frustration to peace.

Thor remembered the Loki he had grown up with. He remember the brother that had once tried to keep him out of trouble, temper his hot-headed drive to prove himself in combat, and keep him from getting every one of his friends and Loki himself in trouble. It was the Loki that could have remained the true defender of Ásgarðr, had things come out differently.

But now, his Jötunn brother focused that buried patience to a new end. He was teaching his mate how to be a goddess, whether Hermione realised the truth or not. He was teaching her something he had gifted no one else: how to be his equal. Thor knew that Loki rarely did anything that did not benefit himself in some way, but what purpose would teaching Hermione how to take out the God of Lies serve?

Hermione, however, was not only the student. She guided Loki in the magic of Miðgarðr wizards and witches. She said that eventually, if their children received their letters from Hogwarts, that both of them would have to make "appearances" in the Wizarding world and look the part. Strangely, Loki tolerated her lessons in "crude, verbal magic," but did admit that some of the spells were quite amusing. He took great interest in the little hexes and jinxes to glue his progeny's shoes to the floor, their tongue to the roof of their mouth, and their legs to turn to jelly so they couldn't rampage around the cottage like lowland gorillas on caffeine. He took particular interest in the smaller things, such as the subtle creation of charmed objects, which he had not bothered to focus on before.

Whatever the reason, Thor realised that Loki was connecting to a part of himself thought long buried: the God of Mischief. Thor found it much more appealing than the God of Lies. Much like All-Father, Loki had multiple aspects to his godhood, but Thor confessed to himself that he much preferred Loki when he was not channelling the mantle of lies.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Hermione yawned into her hand as she pulled the carafe of juice out of the charmed cabinet that was dutifully serving as their refrigerator. Loki had charmed the entire cabinet to be icy on the inside, which served wonderfully to keep the drinks cold, the food from spoiling, and ice cream from melting. He had used the cabinets as his experiment with "strange human charms magic," and the results had come out quite successfully.

She sighed as she looked at the bottom of the carafe to see a few millilitres of juice left on the bottom. "We're out of pumpkin juice," she said with amusement.

Loki tilted the pitcher up and drank the last of what was on the bottom. "Now, we are out of pumpkin juice."

Hermione huffed just as Loki's mouth pressed to hers with a rumbling growl. As he pulled back, his ruby eyes stared into her with affection. Hermione melted under his gaze, brushing her hand across his bluing skin. "What am I going to do with you?"

Loki gazed down his nose at her, a smile tugging the corner of his mouth. "I have a few ideas."

Hermione lay her head against his chest, feeling the familiar touch of his arms pull her tightly against him. "None which will help me put juice on the table for our ravenous children, who I swear get their appetite from Fenrisúlfr."

Loki snorted into her hair. "You are the one who addicted your family to pumpkin juice," he said into her scalp. "And should I be worried that my four-legged son has someone melded his genetic material into my children which I had with you?"

"Fine, blame it on me then," Hermione chuckled. "As for genetic material, he's your son, so he had to get that ravenous hunger from somewhere."

"Not, I," Loki said, waving his hand. "Just sitting in the same room as the Warriors Three as they eat is enough to make you swear off food and drink for a month."

Hermione half choked a laugh. "They sound like Ronald. Oh how I used to scold him for eating all the time."

"Hrm, well imagine that for a few centuries or fifteen and you can understand why I prefer not eating like a school of half-starved piranha," he replied with a sniff.

Hermione chuckled. "I suppose," she said with a grin. "Wait, does Ásgarðr even have piranha?"

Loki tilted his head. "We have these small silver and gold fish about this long," he said gesturing with his fingers. "They have small bodies, huge mouths, and a disturbing amount of sharp teeth. They will literally eat anything protein that is thrown into their ponds."

Hermione make a puckered face. "Why would you…"

"They look," Loki said slowly, "beautiful, so Frigga put some in the fountain in the main palace garden. They don't touch water plants at all. Every so often, mother would throw in a mutton leg or something into the fountain, and it would be gone within seconds."

"That doesn't sound beautiful, Loki," Hermione choked. "That sounds horrifying."

Loki shrugged. "Mother called them Pira, so when I learned of the piranha, it didn't take much for me to make the connection between the two. Though, from what I can tell, Miðgarðr piranha are nothing like mother's Pira."

"Thank Merlin for small favours there," Hermione said with a shake of her head. "I don't think I'd ever go swimming again."

"Mother taught me one of my first spells, believe it or not," Loki said with some fondness. "It was a stasis spell that froze the little blighters in place so we could move the plants around or take out debris."

"Is it like _Immobulus_?" Hermione asked.

"Same vein," Loki said, rubbing his chin in thought.

Hermione yawned again. "I have time to go and fetch the juice before the children wake up. They have learned their atrocious sleeping habits from us, I fear. Normal children do not sleep for days at a time."

Loki chuckled. "Ours do, and it is normal for us, therefore it is normal."

Hermione chuckled. "Very well. Who am I to argue with a god?" She walked over to the wardrobe by the door and opened it, pulling out her wand, which she stashed into her robes, and the sweeping black travelling cloak that she wore every time she was out in Wizarding places. She let the cloak fall about her shoulders. "I think Severus would amused that his cloak gets more mileage now than ever it did when he was wearing it."

Loki smiled. "I think he would say it was putting it to good use, yes?"

Hermione grinned. "I think so." She touched the fabric with reverence. "He gave it to me after our horrible adventure trying to collect frost pollen from the ice poppies in the Alps. He said it was a reminder to never go anywhere with him again without planning for the most random weather patterns." Hermione paused and then stormed up to Loki, pressing her finger to his sternum. "You didn't happen to know what might have caused a random blizzard in the middle of summer after an entire month of clear skies and warmth, by chance?"

Loki's eyes widened. "Not that I… recall?"

"Hn," Hermione replied, tapping her finger to his breastbone. "I'm sure you've forgotten more mischief than most could remember."

Loki's ruby eyes sparkled with mischief, giving her the answer she sought. " _Jag_ _ä_ _lskar dig, min h_ _ä_ _xa_ ," he whispered softly, pressing his lips to hers.

Hermione purred into his mouth, a flash of her magic spilt from her eyes. " _Jag_ _ä_ _lskar dig ocks_ _å_ ," she whispered softly back to him. "And are you trying to corrupt me with your Swedish?"

"Are you complaining?" Loki asked, eyes sparkling.

"Hn," Hermione said, placing her finger to his lips. "I suppose hearing that you love me in any language is acceptable, but if you start teaching the children profanity—"

Loki captured her mouth again. " _Nej, min_ _ä_ _lskling,_ " he breathed into her face. "I will not be teaching our children profanity," he paused and seemed to think of something, "unless my brother visits more often."

Hermione scoffed, nipping at his nose with her teeth.

Loki pulled back in mock surprise, grinning at her. He held out a small flower to her with a blossom shaped like a dragon.

Hermione took it between her fingers and shook her head when the dragon-shaped flower made to bite her. "Only you, my love, would give me a biting flower as a sign of affection."

Loki grinned, taking the flower from her fingers and placing it in her hair. "Now, it can snap at passersbys."

Hermione shook her head. "Try to behave yourself while I am gone," she chided.

Loki tilted his head, adjusting his halo expression.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Such an incorrigible god."

He smiled at her. "All yours."

She traced the lines of magic on his skin and stared into his ruby eyes. "Promise?" Her voice was soft as an almost imperceptible tremble of doubt trickled into it.

"I swear it," he promised her, his magic flared, whipping about him with the strength of his conviction. He placed his palm to her cheeks and pressed his forehead to hers. "We are one, you and I, now till the end of all things. _Tvivlar du p_ _å_ _mig_?"

Hermione's eyes sparkled with emotion as her hands covered his. "I do not doubt you. I doubt myself. I am just an ordinary witch. What claim would one such as I have on a god that anyone would believe?"

Loki, seemingly realising his mate was having a moment when all she saw herself as was an ordinary girl surrounded in those who constantly questioned her worth, held her to him, brushing his hand through her hair. They stood together, silently, until Hermione pulled away at last. She looked up at him with the warm smile that was for him alone.

Sometimes, waking from sleep set her back emotionally. It caused her to doubt the growing bond between them. Despite all the signs that what they had was strong, she would lapse back into the younger, doubting version of herself. Loki, however, was always there to brush her doubts away whenever they reared their head. He had lived long enough to know when something exceedingly special was thrown into his lap, and now that she was within his grasp, he had no intention of letting her go without a fight.

He purred as she ran her hands across the raised markings on his skin. Hermione had been the first to look upon his Jötunn form with acceptance and affection. It pleased him that it was so. It wasn't as if he wasn't well versed in hiding his true form from just about everyone, but Hermione did not cringe back at his differences. And for someone who had spent countless years trying to live up to being the perfect son of Ásgarðr, he found that trait in Hermione to be utterly priceless.

Hermione yawned softly, stifling it behind the back of her hand.

"Perhaps you are not so done sleeping, _min_ _ä_ _lskling_ ," he said softly.

"It is hard having children," she said. "They say that you never get as much sleep as you should when you have them, but I do not think the rule books considered hibernation as normal parental behaviour."

Loki's eyes smiled at her. "You do not have to go today. The children and I will survive without our addiction to pumpkin juice."

Hermione shook her head. "It will do me good to see Diagon Alley again after so long. I am feeling quite… mortal today. It will make me feel right at home."

"I'm not sure if feeling mortal is necessarily a good thing," Loki replied somewhat dubiously.

"It is quite nostalgic for me," Hermione said with a smile. "I won't be long."

"And what is long for those such as we?" Loki chuckled. "Take the wolf, at least."

Hermione shook her head. "He's sleeping for once. Let the poor wolf rest.

Loki sighed and nodded. "Very well," he acquiesced. "Say hello to Severus for me."

Hermione stood on her tip toes to kiss him on the forehead. "I will. Be back soon."

With a crack and a swirl of black cloth, she was gone.

-o-o-o-o-o-

With the graveyard visited, graves cleaned, and stones and flowers left, Hermione found her way back to Diagon Alley. In all the years that had passed, hardly anything had changed. Even the paint was still peeling from the same places. The faces had changed somewhat, but Hermione saw the family resemblances in many of those she saw tending the stores. One of Ollivander's sons tended his store, and he looked so much like old Garrick that Hermione couldn't help but smile. Apples didn't fall far from the tree in the Wizarding world, and she was pretty sure that the children bouncing up and down at their mother's feet had Weasley blood in them.

She may not support the idea that being Muggleborn had anything to do with blood purity, but she could recognise the strength of a certain genetic stamp such as Malfoy hair, the Black eyes and hair, the Potter mop-like hair, or even the shade of Evans' distinctive eyes on her descendants so many years after her death. She could the cheekbones of the Lovegood's, the jaw of Seamus Finnigan, and Neville's eyes and sidewise grin in the crowds. It was odd to her, because when she was so much younger, she had never noticed such things so easily. She found the traits comforting, in a way. Her friends from the past were still with her in spirit, and she was glad of it.

Hermione yawned, sleep still clinging to her mind and body. Loki is probably right, she thought, I should have just crawled back in bed. She pulled the basket of little things she had purchased for the twins, the dozen or so shrunken barrels of pumpkin juice, and a Wizarding book of Norse mythology that she found utterly comical knowing what she knew about certain members of the pantheon. The images, much like the Wizarding photographs, moved magically, and she knew Loki would love it.

Gringott's, much like the Muggle version of the Swiss banks, kept her money and her secret safe. Goblins, she was happy to note, didn't give a flying fig about what name she went by, and it seemed that they were even more happy to keep her secrets safe now that she wasn't entirely human anymore.

Goblins always had a barely concealed disdain for the Wizarding world for putting laws into action that made them unable to wield wands. It forced them to harness their own innate magic in secret, and they had become quite good at it. Hermione had tried her best, during her first lifetime, to bring equal treatment to the Goblin and non-human races, but like most things Wizarding, change was resisted. The goblins and centaurs, however, never forgot what she had done for them. When Hermione underwent her transformation, it was the non-human races that recognised her via her magic rather than her face. No matter what face she wore, there was no centaur herd that walked the Earth that did not allow her safe passage through their territories. There was no Goblin worth their treasure that didn't know the magical signature of "Lady Ouroboros."

Severus had found great amusement that such a "disgustingly obvious Gryffindor" would be called Lady Ouroboros, and Hermione had shaken her head stating it wasn't her fault that the non-human races had given her a name and refused to be swayed to recant. By the time "Hermione's" first life had been concluded, all her vaults and secrets were keyed to her magical signature, and deep within her vault was housed more secrets than one person could ever keep.

Deep within the vaults of Gringotts, even further down than the vaults of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, lay the vault of the Lady Ouroboros, Defender of the non-human races, and Retriever of Artifacts. After her transformation, she had become a perfect candidate for a Curse Breaker, and the witch who taught students through the school year, spent her summers "under cover" retrieving artifacts for Gringotts that were considered too obscure or selective for their normal Curse Breakers. To Hermione, they gave the chase of singular items on their growing untouchable "wish list" of things they would "pay" almost anything for. Her finding them not only filled her coffers but insured the steadfast loyalty to an entire faction of non-humans that did not give their allegiance lightly.

It had also been how she gained her moniker amongst them as "Lady Ouroboros" thanks to the first thing she had ever retrieved for them: a priceless jade sculpture of an ancient dragon curved into a perfect circle as it bit its tail. She had literally walked out of the ancient tomb with it wrapped around her neck, where the stubborn artifact refused to be moved until the goblins had dug up an ancient tome with even more ancient words to whisper at it to lure it off her neck. After many hours of "pleading" by the goblins, the artifact loosened its grip from around her neck and took its place as the lock upon Hermione's vault, refusing to budge save by her hand. As if to lay claim her in its own way, the artifact had left a signature of its magic around her own that no goblin of Gringott's would ever miss. She was, forever, the Lady Ouroboros, and her vault was considered the most sacred of trusts between she and the goblins.

Her vault, and she chuckled when she had first walked into it after the entire Ouroboros fiasco, was much like the Room of Requirement. Its space seemed to alter to what she needed, and what it contained were like elements of a time capsule. Shelves of books were kept in perfect order, tomes of forgotten lore and magic, and the personal potion journals of Potion Master Severus Snape were only the start of it. Fragments of so many lifetimes filled the vault. Some were dangerous artifacts and some tokens of some emotional memory that only Hermione knew.

Every so often, the goblins would contact her for a retrieval assignment, and Hermione admitted that each time it happened it brought her a little amusement to break up the monotony. Every assignment was another adventure and another story to add to her countless others. Every time she had "died" to get something just added more infamy with her name amongst the goblins. They never gave her trivial work, and one "job" could have set the Weasley family up for life back in the day.

Ironically, Bill Weasley had never known about her side dealings with the goblins despite his being a curse breaker of the highest order himself. He had tapered off the most dangerous assignments once he and Fleur had children, and Hermione couldn't blame him. He had a family to worry about. Severus had shaken his head at her a number of times, stating, "I wonder what your students would think if they knew their proper, rule-enforcing professor gallivanted through the summer, curse breaking as a hobby for treasures?"

Hermione shook off her reminiscing and exited Diagon Alley from the Leaky Cauldron. The old tavern was still much as it was. It had a new coat of paint and a cheerful coloured sign, but the standard spells that kept it looking innocuous to those who weren't in the know were still going strong.

As she stepped through, a ginger tabby wove between her legs and darted up the stars, and Hermione felt a tinge of sadness as she remembered her old friend Crookshanks. While Tom had long since passed, the cheerful man behind the counter held much the same charisma she remembered of Tom. She paid for some sandwiches to go, knowing that her ravenous children would not care that they were having tasty sandwiches for breakfast instead of lunch. The man behind the counter smiled at her, happily accepting her tip for speed and the care in which he wrapped the food in parchment for her. She set the food next to her shrunken barrels of pumpkin juice, and saw her way out, using her foot to make sure the cat didn't dart out the door into the "wrong side" of the tavern.

She chose, instead of apparating back home immediately, to walk along the familiar way to the park. The pigeons fluttered around her feet in their obnoxious quest for more food. Hermione smiled and crumbled some crackers in her hand and scattered the bits for them, watching in amusement as one of the plumper birds bullied the others out of the way for the spoils. Realising she had just caused a pigeon uprising, she stepped out of the way and let the birds duke it out amongst themselves.

There was an older woman struggling with a sack of groceries from the nearby greengrocers, and Hermione smirked a little at the concept of "older." Older for a human, she admitted to herself, chuckling to herself that she was starting to think like Loki in regards to time and age.

A young fellow with his head in the clouds and ears tunnelled with the preoccupation of the music he was blaring into his auditory canal practically bowled the woman over and kept right on going. The older woman cried out, falling down to the ground with her scattered groceries, and Hermione rushed to help the poor woman up. As much as she was all for letting people do what they did oblivious to her presence, letting an elderly woman struggle to regain her footing as her groceries rolled around her was not a very considerate thing to do. As much as her people watching was often akin to a biologist watching lions and zebras in Africa on the Muggle television, she did have her limits of "live and let live" and "hands off" observation.

Hermione put her basket down on the nearby bench, and helped chase down the rolling groceries. The sack she had been carrying had miraculously been spared from damage, and it didn't take long to scoop up the stray vegetables and canned goods. Hermione set the bag on the bench and extended her hand to the wrinkle-faced woman.

"Oh, thank you, Dearie," the woman cooed. "So nice of a young child to remember their elders."

Hermione stifled a smile, helping the woman up.

As the elder woman's hand touched hers, Hermione felt something tingle across her skin and something tickled the back of her awareness.

A pair of men rollerblading down the park path were coming their way, and she jumped out of the way, lightly shoving the woman to the side of the green to keep her from being hit once again by avid exercisers.

"You should be okay now," Hermione said with a huff, watching the skaters flailing their arms in synchronisation as they disappeared down the path.

"Yes, thank you, dear," the woman said again, using Hermione's shoulder to steady herself.

Hermione thought nothing of it until a strange pain shot into her neck as a coldness was injected into her neck. Hermione spun, staggering as the cold spread to her limbs. Her vision was blurring as she felt the same lethargy that would overcome her when sleep demanded she return to its embrace.

The elder woman was staring down at her, her wrinkled face was twisted into a smile that did not speak of innocence. She was sneering at Hermione. "No use fighting it, child," she purred. "That tonic was made to tranquilise a god, and you, my dear, are nothing but a god's plaything."

Hermione sank to the ground, the ground seemed to fall away from her as the sky came crashing down. Her magic refused to come to her call. It was curling up inside her as if to prepare for sleep.

_"_ _Stupid girl,_ _"_ _Severus_ _'_ _voice admonished her in her head._ _"_ _Letting your guard down because she was an old woman. Have you forgotten everything I taught you?_ _"_

Hermione stared blearily up at the old woman's face as she stepped away from her. The blinding light of the sun beaming her in the eyes, and Hermione fell to the ground completely, unable to resist the shutting down of her body.

-o-o-o-o-o-

* * *

**A/N** : Argh… cliffhanger?! *dodges vegetables* I'm sorry! SORRY! I have to sleep! I have homework! Exams! Careplans! (flees!)


	5. The Cave at the Centre of the World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> People shouldn't meddle in the affairs of Gods.  
> Loki suspects something upon Hermione's return home.  
> Frigga tells the twins a story of Fenrisúlfr.  
> Hermione meets with an old friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta love: fluffpanda, who probably needs a new vacation after greeting her return with this...

Chapter 5: The Cave At the Centre of the World

 

“You sure this is going to keep her bound?” the woman in skin tight leather asked. Red hair spilt over her shoulders like a waterfall as she stared at what appeared to be a young human woman with bushy brown hair and a terribly normal look about her. She was, as humans went, beautiful, but she wasn’t what one considered divine in regards to comeliness.

“These bonds were created from the gut of a God, Joanne” the taller woman scoffed. She passed her hand over the wrapped “guts” and watched them turn to iron. She then wrapped what looked like a thin, glistening piece of silk around Hermione’s wrists and feet. “And this is the cord that bound the World Wolf. She will not escape them.”

“Why bind her at all? Isn’t that concoction you injected her with going to keep her asleep?” the younger woman asked, brows furrowing.

“Precautions,” the older woman sniffed. “You said you wanted to make sure Loki is kept occupied, yes? Away from your… organisation?”

Joanne nodded. “We could just take her back to headquarters,” she said after a bit. “Break her conditioning.”

“No!” the tall woman snapped, her head whipping around. Her bright blond hair lashed around her head. The woman seemed to collect herself. “It cannot be risked that she somehow contacts Loki. This place will keep her safely out of the way.”

Joanne scratched her head. “She’s human. She’ll die without food or water.”

The blond woman straightened her back, fire glinting in her eyes. “My Loki rotted here for hundreds of your years as I caught the venom of the serpent Skaði placed above him on that branch there,” she said through gritted teeth, her bony finger pointing towards and old, gnarled branch sticking out of the stone and earth. “All because he fell out of favour with the Æsir. She will just sleep away, oblivious the passing of time, and Loki will remember his place as a God.”

Joanne fidgeted with discomfort, but said nothing. Dealing with Gods and Goddesses was a little out of her league, but she believed it was best to get Loki out of the running, and this Goddess had promised to do just that. All she needed in return was a little assistance from a “child of Miðgarðr” to insure there would be no distractions.

The blond Goddess knelt beside Hermione’s still form and yanked a lock of her hair from the roots and curled it around her finger. She placed it into a strange looking locket with a blue gem on it and put it around her neck. Within moments, she had changed completely into the spitting image of Hermione.

Joanne flinched.

“Just one more thing,” the Goddess purred. She took a small knife and looked as though she were going to use it on Hermione. As she neared Hermione’s throat, however, a ripple of energy slapped out at her, and a the form of a serpent rose up from her neck and lashed out at her hand, almost sinking its not-quite-so-ghostly fangs into her finger.

The Goddess recoils quickly, eyes narrowing. “That,” she said slowly. “Was unexpected.” She eyed Hermione’s neck as the energy serpent hunkered down once more, curling its coils around Hermione’s neck in a protective embrace. “Why is it this mortal embraced by the mark of Jörmungandr?”

“What?” Joanne asked.

“The Serpent of Miðgarðr has marked her! Why?” the Goddess spat.

“I see nothing, Ma’am,” Joanne said truthfully. Her domain was fire, but it was a mutant power, not magic. When it came to Magic or the domain of the Gods, she was blind to it.

“You will address me properly as Lady Sigyn, human,” the Goddess snapped.

“My apologies, Lady Sigyn,” Joanne said, casting her eyes down as though speaking with the Queen of England.

Sigyn scowled at her for a time, but turned her attention back to Hermione. “The serpent did not strike when I dosed her the first time,” she said. “Why, then, would it rise to protect her now? You, Joanne. Take this knife and scrape the area here on her.” The goddess gestured to the area where the voice box set. She held out the small knife.

Joanne was, admittedly, nervous. She grasped the golden blade with trepidation. Slowly she reached out to scrape the surface of Hermione’s skin, just enough that a fine layer of cells transferred to the blade edge. She handed it to Sigyn.

The Goddess scraped the cells into the locket and handed the knife back. “More.”

Joanne took the knife again and went towards Hermione’s throat, but this time she felt a burning pain on her knuckle. Her hand convulsed, and the knife went flying into the air.

Sigyn cursed in some language Joanne didn’t know, but her voice had changed. It was no longer the high and arrogant tone she had used before. It had become softer and more, dare she say it, normal. “Jörmungandr’s spawn is onto us. What we have will have to do.”

Joanne clutched her hand in pain. Her knuckle burned where the phantom bite had taken her, and even turning her hand into flames did not seem to help the pain.

Sigyn gestured for Joanna to leave.

Joanna realised with some horror that Sigyn had taken Hermione’s clothes, leaving the woman with nothing but her knickers. The goddess brushed herself off with a sigh, as if she was being forced to wear peasant clothing. She gestured imperiously for Joanna to get a move on. “Hurry up, Joanna,” Sigyn said in a disturbingly sweet voice. “We wouldn’t want you be trapped here like a forgotten God.”

Joanna gulped and rushed ahead. She had no idea where she was going, but she wanted to get the hell out wherever this place was.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Loki clutched his head, feeling a headache coming on. He felt something in the flow of his magic. It was his magic’s hunger, or so he called it. All his life he had felt it lashing out, seeking, hunting for “something,” but the disquiet had ended when he had found Hermione. Now, strangely, the chaotic energy of his magic swirled around him, seeking and hungry again. It made no sense. Hermione would return as she always did. He had no reason to feel so unbalanced. He had no reason to feel so… alone.

Loki shook his head, admonishing himself for acting the fool. His lack of faith could be reserved for the rest of Miðgarðr and Ásgarðr, but not for her. She, alone, deserved more than his suspicion and doubt.

The pattering of feet trampled into the dining room.

“Mum!” the twins chimed. “Mummy!”

“Whoa there, children,” Loki admonished. “You know what your mother thinks of you stampeding through the house.”

“Where’s mum?” they asked together.

“She went to fetch you ravenous children pumpkin juice,” he said, rubbing his head.

“I told you,” Friðr said to George.

“Are you sure?” George asked his father.

“I saw her off this morning,” he replied. “She was going to visit the graves, pick up the juice, and be back.”

George looked dubious.

“What is troubling you, child?” Loki asked.

“I’m worried about mum,” George said quietly.

“He had a nightmare,” Friðr said.

Loki frowned and pulled Friðr into his lap. “What sort of nightmare?”

“I dreamt that mum was being sealed into the ground,” he replied softly. “She couldn’t move or talk or cry out. She couldn’t even see!”

Loki frowned, rubbing his head. It would be far easier to comfort his child if he actually felt comforted himself. “Why don’t you set the table for breakfast, so when you mother comes back everything will be set?”

The twins nodded, and Loki stifled a growing sense of dread that was nibbling at the back of his awareness. Dread and a stirring unease was gathering in his stomach. Hermione had just woken from sleep, and that was her most “vulnerable” time. Loki knew that she was far less vulnerable than she believed herself to be, but the part of her that was still clinging to her humanity as her identity had to be eased into what she truly was. Loki was patient. The longer he spent with her teaching her about the magic she had become one with, the easier it would be to allow her to find her way to the truth at her own pace. He was in no hurry. Her evolution was occurring at the speed of the gods, which was to say it had its own time scale.

That being said, Loki’s bond with her was more than some passing godly fancy. It was more than Odin’s many couplings with various goddesses other than Frigga. It held more meaning than he had with Angrboða, though he had, admittedly, cared more for her than he had for Sigyn after their arranged marriage. His magic resonated with her and merged with her. Marriage amongst the Gods was decidedly different from having a mate. Marriage was an arrangement, most often than not. The gods were almost expected to lay with more than their husband or wife, to curry favour with more than one God or Goddess throughout their long lives.

Thor had been a notable exception in his devotion to Jane Foster, and even long after her death, the God of Thunder held her strong in his heart, often preferring no female company at all if it was not with her. Loki, on the other hand, had married as he was expected to to the one Odin had thrust upon him. He had lain with her as was expected of a husband, had children, provided for them, and saw them just to the age when the Æsir cast Loki into “punishment” for his hand in exposing the one fatal weakness of the God Baldr.

However, Loki knew that Hermione was his mate. It wasn’t just some desire to bed her, not that he minded. It wasn’t just the call of her magic, not that it wasn’t strong. When he was with her, he was complete, as though a hole in himself he never realised he possessed was filled. He had always scoffed at the phrase “you complete me,” but the cosmos seemed determine to get him to eat his past words often. Hermione did complete him, and he felt in his thawing heart that he did the same for her.

Loki felt his magic lash out, seeking, and he stood, exiting the cottage door into the outer yard. “Fenrisúlfr,” he said in a low voice. The sound was cold and steely.

Fenrisúlfr, who had often wore the more peaceful countenance in the last few years, raised his head. He stood, attending his sire with a slight baring of teeth but a tuck of his tail between his legs to assure Loki that he remembered whose son he was.

“Find Hermione,” he said in a flat tone. His eyes bled crimson. “Let no one keep you from her. Go.”

The huge wolf pulled his lips back from his teeth and dashed off, leaping over the garden wall and disappearing in a matter of seconds.

-o-o-o-o-

When Hermione walked into the garden gate, the twins practically tackled her to the ground in what Volstagg would have called a stunning use of velocity. She attempted to walk, but they held her in such a grip that she was forced to pat them reassuringly in order to get them to release her legs.

“Oof, hey now,” she chuckled. “What’s this all about?”

“Mum! I was worried!” George said, tugging on her robes.

“Oh? Whatever for?” she replied, holding out the basket of goodies.

Friðr grasped the basket with a squeal of excitement. “Pumpkin juice!” The boy did a happy dance while stamping his feet in excitement before absconding with the basket of loot.

“Brother, wait!” George called after him, scurrying off to catch up. “The last time you tried to enlarge something, it exploded!”

“Since when do you allow them to steal the precious cargo before it even hits the threshold of the house, woman?” Loki said from atop the garden archway.

“Since I was brutally attacked as I entered my own garden?” Hermione answered, turning to look him.

He tilted his head, cracking the bones in his neck as he leapt off the arch and landed on the ground. He approached her, looking down at her with a sniff. “The children worried when you did not come home for breakfast.”

“I brought lunch,” Hermione answered, gesturing to where the basket had disappeared to. “How much of it will remain before you get to it could be problematic.”

Loki lifted a brow and walked up to her, his lip curled slightly as he looked into her face, his fingers grasping the edges of her chin. “Perhaps we shall use the distraction for activities of our own,” he said with a rumble.

Hermione touched his cheek, her skin flushed.

Loki’s eyes began to bleed into crimson as a flush of blue spread across his face as his mouth covered hers.

Hermione’s eyes widened as she pushed him away, her hands retreating from his blue skin as though she had been burned. “Loki, the children,” she admonished, “I should prepare lunch before they blow up the house.”

Loki’s hungry look spoke of things that had nothing to do with lunch, and Hermione flushed, looking toward the house. She shed the heavy travelling cloak from her shoulders and threw it on the nearby garden wall and retreated into the house with Loki following close behind.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Loki watched his double follow the woman who was not who she appeared, his eyes glowing a malevolent crimson. His magic and the magic which sang with the touch of Hermione’s shared energy swirled around him.

Fenrisúlfr had not returned, yet “Hermione” appeared to be inside their house making food for the children. This… impostor looked like her and sounded like her, but there was something hollow about her. Her magic was not reaching out to him in greeting. She did not protest him calling her “woman” or banter with him about how he had exchanged “my Lady” with something more crude. She flinched away from his Jötunn appearance, and she had not prevented the twins from running away with the errand basket.

The twins were running around the yard victoriously with the basket of loot, and Loki caught them with his arms, relieving them of their pumpkin juice and sandwiches.

“Awww…” Friðr protested, but when he looked up to his father’s cerulean countenance, he halted his protest.

Loki lifted a parchment wrapped parcel from the basket, his crimson eyes scanning the surface as his fingers moved to untie the twine around it. A Norse mythology storybook lay within. His jaw tightened as he flipped the cover open. Hermione’s delicate quill writing adorned a piece of parchment slipped into the front cover.

-o-

Dear Loki,

Knowing some of the “characters” in this book personally made this seem more like a comedy than education. I especially enjoyed the rendition of you with gold and white striped hair, a beard with the curly-q, and the curly tipped shoe on your head. The Icelandic people had some strange art of you, to say the least. I will admit to chuckling at the animated illustration of your brother in a chariot pulled by goats—goats that he could kill, eat, and then bring back to life. I won’t even ask. If it was true, I don’t want to know. Just leave that story out when you read to the twins, or you’ll never hear the end of it. I really don’t want our children rampaging in the farmer’s fields killing goats and trying to bring them back to life.

Sincerely,

Hermione

P.S. Next time your brother starts an argument where he calls you a giant again, remind him that the Norse believed he was three quarters giant. Odin was a half-giant and Thor’s mother, according to myth, was the giantess Jord. Just… don’t tell him I told you that! I will Obliviate you both!

-o-

Loki’s crimson eyes glowed. He pulled the twins close to him with his arms and leaned down to whisper into their ears.

“Let’s play a game, my children,” he said softly.

The twins perked up. “What kind of game, father?” they chimed.

“I think it’s time you showed your mother the extent of how well your pranks are coming along,” Loki purred into their ears.

“But, father,” George whined. “Mother will hex us into clown fish, and we’ll spend the next week trying to fight each other over the same anemone in the aquarium!”

Loki grinned despite himself as he remembered his witch’s knee-jerk reaction to being pranked by her progeny. His sons had learned early on that practical pranking was not to be tested on their mother or “very bad things” would happen to them. “Mother has agreed not to retaliate with magic, but that doesn’t mean she won’t be keeping an eye on you.”

George and Friðr bounced on their toes. “She’s going to let us prank her?”

“She’s going to let you try,” Loki said, sliding his eyes to the side as if in disbelief, “and she will complain bitterly if she catches you at it.”

Friðr and George grinned at each other. “You’re really giving us permission?”

Loki widened his eyes in the equivalent to “obviously.” He handed them the basket of goodies sans the book Hermione had meant for him.

Friðr bit his lip. “But, father,” he said nervously. “Mum has a mean hexing arm.”

Loki’s smile spread across his face. “Dodge faster.”

Friðr and George exchanged nervous but growingly excited glances. The twins clutched the basket between them and dashed into the house.

Loki’s face twisted into an unmistakably evil grin. Excellent.

-o-o-o-o-o-

 

Bradley tapped the console in front of him and sighed with relief as the monitoring screens came back on-line. It had taken almost a week to get the monitoring system back up to snuff after the God of Thunder’s electrical storm. It had come down to the more stressful use of regular newscasts and public knowledge media sources to figure out there had been a volcano erupt in Hawaii that the locals needed help with. If that wasn’t enough, an earthquake in California had caused a tsunami so extensive that it had turned Alcatraz into the great underwater prison and San Francisco into the new Atlantis. The entire northern edge of the land where San Francisco lay was under a thick layer of seaweed and the only reason scientists said it wasn’t worse was because San Bruno Mountain State Park acted like a natural dam to keep the Pacific Ocean from swallowing up the rest of the land mass.

Enhanced, mutant, talented, gifted, or just plain ordinary people were all pitching in to help around the world, and it seemed as though even the notorious “bad guys” were on vacation while the world was blowing up. Either that, Bradley figured, or they were doing things far below the regular media’s radar that the Avengers, X-men, Southern League of Extraordinary Housewives, or whatever organisation would be knee deep in trouble very soon.

Speaking of trouble…

Bradley tapped the screen to bring up the photos of Joanne’s strange injury on her hand. They had brought in doctors from every place they could muster with all the priorities going to the natural disasters. They had considered petitioning in Dr. Strange, but he was apparently fighting an inter-dimensional demon uprising in another dimension to keep it from spilling out to Earth, so he was understandably preoccupied with “more important matters.”

He looked at the strange energy scans of the wound and shook his head. There was no physical wound to speak of. It was like her body was acting like there was someone virulent spreading up her arm, and Joanne had been screaming in agony for the last few days. She’d also set many of the medical wings on fire, and she had had to be moved into a non-flammable holding facility. To top it all off, since all the agent tracking sensors had been down for the last week, he couldn’t vouch for how she got the injury. She wasn’t fessing up, even in her agony, and the higher ups were rapping him upside the head for an explanation on where she had been in the case other agents may have been exposed.

All Bradley could figure out was that she didn’t “get it helping put up the sandbag walls in California with the rest of the crew. In fact, none of the crew they had sent out there when the tremors first started even remembered seeing her. The only thing he knew for certain was that she returned a few nights ago, collapsed in the mess hall, and almost set half of the new recruits on fire. Well, that and the two hundred some pages of “what wasn’t wrong with her” from the medical reports.

“Your main bridges into the city of San Francisco are no longer decorated in sea plants. Who is that?” Thor’s voice said from the doorway. His eyes were focused on the screen.

Bradley chose his words very carefully in order to stave off damage to his newly repaired monitoring screens. “Joanne came back from her last mission with some sort of mysterious ailment. The doctors are caring for her after she almost set the entire mess hall on fire.”

Thor stormed into the room with heavy steps. Mjölnir was at his side, but he thrust his finger at the screen, tracing the phantom wound shape with his fingers. “No medicine you have on Miðgarðr will help you with what has marked her.”

“What?” Bradley blinked. “What do you mean?”

“That is the bite of Jörmungandr or one of his spawn,” Thor said grimly. “Most likely one of his spawn, considering the size of Jörmungandr. Only those marked with their favour are immune to the venom. Only those marked with their favour can suck the venom out without ending up like her.”

“Wait,” Bradley boggled. “You’re saying she was bitten by a mythological snake?”

Thor frowned, staring at Bradley with a long-suffering look.

“Right, sorry. Mutants all day long, still trying to find talking to Gods normal,” Bradley said sheepishly. “So you can, uh,” Bradley started to say, his face turning red. “Suck the venom out?”

“No,” Thor said with a shake of his head. “I cannot.”

“But,” Bradley was struggling with words. “You’re a god.”

“The venom is designed to wreck havoc upon the gods,” Thor said with a tilt of his head. “You can imagine, then, what it will do to a child of Miðgarðr.”

“Surely the Ásgarðr has developed a antivenin or something to counter it?” Bradley commented with disbelief.

Thor shook his head, seemingly both amused and confused. “Jörmungandr’s venom can kill Gods, friend,” he said. “What do you think we could inject it into  in order to culture something such as antivenin?”

Bradley slumped. “Right. I just. I keep forgetting we’re dealing with things that are beyond my normal reality.”

“You sit here and stare at these moving screens for hours and hours watching us fight both those of this world and not, yet you consider these things beyond your reality?” Thor commented.

Bradley looked sheepish. “I’m a simple man, with an affinity to electronics.”

Thor stroked his jawline in reply. He pointed his finger at the moving screen. “This is Joanne, yes? The woman who thinks I should have forced Jane to live with me in Ásgarðr and thinks Loki should be hunted down and killed for his past crimes?”

Bradley winced. “Yes.”

“She will not like the cure she will require,” Thor said simply. “Provided she wishes a cure at all.”

“Why wouldn’t she?” Bradley questioned. “Of course she will want the cure! Who wouldn’t?”

Thor’s mouth twitched. “Jörmungandr is the son of Loki. Only the blessed of Jörmungandr and Loki himself can draw the poison safely from her body without succumbing to its taint.”

Bradley stared at Thor uncomprehendingly for a moment and then realisation crept into his eyes. “Oh.”

“My brother and Lady Hermione will need word sent before I can take the Bifröst to their home,” Thor said. “Especially if I am to bring someone unknown to their doorstep for any reason.” He emphasised the word “any” with a frown. “I will have my mother send word. She is better at currying their favour in this regard. I will go now. There should be no time wasted, or the damage the venom will do to her will be irreversible. Ensure that she is ready for travel on the hour, friend. Have them bring her to the circle.”

Bradley watched Thor speed from the room, and he took a moment to rub his temples before hitting a button on the console. “Eric, patch me into the medical ward.”

-o-o-o-o-o-

“Mother,” Loki purred from the garden wall. “What brings you to my humble abode?”

Frigga sighed as the guards that were with her set the stretcher down. “My son,” she said, opening her arms.

Loki jumped off the garden wall and approached, tolerating his adopted mother’s embrace. Their relationship had become more like it had been before the chain of drama that gotten her killed by dark elves. Both she and he seemed to realise that much of what had soured their relationship had been the lack of truth regarding his heritage.

It wasn’t, truly, that he was Jötunn. It was the fact he didn’t know until his birth father grabbed his wrist and induced the first shift into the form he never knew he had. Instead of being prepared for it, nurtured regardless of it, and treated as the prince he had been born to be, the truth had been kept as an shameful secret. His heritage had been painted as the breeding of heathens. Was it really any wonder that there had been a period of betrayal, anger, and retribution before anything resembling closure had come of it?

Loki stared down at the stretcher and raised a brow. “You bringing me human sacrifices now, mother?”

Frigga closed her eyes and took in a breath. “No, my son, it is not an offering, as you well know.”

“Hrm, pity. I did like that age,” Loki said with a sniff. “You say she was bitten? By Jörmungandr?”

“Your brother recognised the streaks up her arm,” Frigga said. “After looking at it, I’d have to agree. It is very distinctive.”

Loki stared down at the red and black streaks that were trailing up the woman’s arm. The veins were distended and discoloured. The skin looked angry starting from her hand and spreading upward towards her shoulder. Her hand was puffy and distended, and her skin was stretched so tightly over the swelling that it was shiny. “Not to be the bearer of the obvious, dear mother, but I highly doubt Jörmungandr swam out of the great sea to bite some mortal, albeit an enhanced mortal, on the knuckle.”

“But it could be one of his brood?”

Loki stared at the purple, red, and black inflamed skin. “Possibly, but neither my son, nor his brood are the type to sink fangs into anyone or anything without a good reason. They do tend to obsess over guarding one thing at a time.”

“Loki, what are you saying?” Frigga asked, her eyebrows furrowing.

Loki’s face twisted in a cruel smile. “I’m saying, mother, that she’s been somewhere she isn’t supposed to be or touched something she was not supposed to touch.”

“You’re saying she deserved this?”

Loki tilted his head. “Perhaps.”

“These are our allies, Loki,” Frigga said with a sigh.

“Do allies stick their hands into your unmentionables, mother?” Loki said with a curve of his upper lip. “Do they rustle around in your jewelry chest or father’s weapon rack?”

Frigga looked mortified.

Loki shook his head. “Jörmungandr does not idly guard anything. His brood are much the same.”

There was a rustle in the back yard as the twins came running out. Friðr flung himself at the nearest guard and jumped into his arms. “Hi, Dvalarr!” he said with excitement.

“Oof,” Dvalarr said as he caught the boy. “Hello, young Friðr,” the guard replied, rustling his hair.

“Are you here to visit? Oh! Grandmother! Are you all here to have dinner?” Friðr leapt from Dvalarr into his Grandmother’s arms like a flea.

Frigga smiled.

George eyed the unconscious woman on the stretcher. “Who’s the lady? She doesn’t look too hot.”

“Someone who stuck their hand into the asp’s nest, my son,” Loki said with a curl of his lip.

There was the sound of a small explosion from inside the house and a scream. Purple smoke billowed out the kitchen window.

Loki turned to his sons, eyebrow lifted.

George shuffled his feet. “We might have…”

“Tampered with the lid on the flour bin,” Friðr finished.

“Harmless!” George swore, his hand raised.

Friðr nodded vigorously in agreement.

There was a crash that came from inside.

Friðr winced. “That might have been mum finding our marble trap.”

There was the sound of a falling bookshelf.

The twins shook their heads. “That wasn’t us!”

Frigga exchanged glances with Loki.

“Why is she here?” Friðr looked down at the woman on the stretcher. “Who is she?”

“Her name is Joanne,” Frigga replied. “Thor says she is one of the new recruits out of,” she said, pausing to remember the place, “Manhattan.”

“Ooo!” George said. “American!”

Friðr leaned closer. “Mum tells us stories about Americans. Thor’s stories with Americans have more beer and wenches in them.”

Loki gave Frigga a look that roughly translated into “this is why my brother should not allowed to babysit my children unsupervised.”

The guards were exchanging glances with each other, feeling slightly uncomfortable that the children were already speaking of beer and wenches before reaching their decade milestone. The people of Ásgarðr were a long-lived people by default, so both Friðr and George were considered babies. It didn’t stop the guards, the Warriors Three, Sif, or anyone else from teaching them what they could.

Friðr and George were like sponges when it came to learning. They had a mother whose cradle was the library, and a father whose thirst for knowledge had found a match only in his hunger for magic. The difference was, the twins were just as fascinated by Thor, Sif, and the Warriors Three’s tales of valour and battle as they were of knowledge and mischief. Thankfully, however, while they enjoyed the stories greatly, they seemed far more inclined to live life to the fullest rather than hone the weapons of war.

Hermione had wondered if her progeny would follow the slower maturation of the typical Jötunnn or Ásgarðian or if the twins would be ready for Hogwarts in their eleventh year. It seemed that they were growing as fast as a typical “son of Miðgarðr,” but it remained to be seen if they would walk the mortal path of their mother’s once heritage, their father’s, or some combination of his and Hermione’s special brew of magic.

As it was, the twins were already far ahead of what the typical Ásgarðian or child of Miðgarðr was taught at their age. Hermione had gazed upon them with amusement and pondered aloud what she could have been capable of had Loki found her as a child and taught her the ways of magic long before she had even seen the main gates of Hogwarts. Loki’s grin had been a combination of mischief and malevolence as he pondered the possibilities, but they both agreed that had things not gone the way they did, things may have been very different and not in a good way. She may have died a normal human death, and he might have still been trying to take over both Ásgarðr and Miðgarðr.

The extent of what Hermione had been transformed into, no one could say or at least wasn’t speaking up about it. Dr. Strange had visited a few times over “a proper cup of English tea” and he had admitted that, despite all of the powers of sorcery at his disposal from various ancient and powerful gods, he was but a very effective conduit. Hermione, he had said, had been transformed into a magic with form. He implied that, much like the law of conservation of energy, she could not be created or destroyed. She could, however transform from one form to another.

Hermione had shaken her head, stating that she was just witch with an unfortunate curse of being extremely hard to kill, and Dr. Strange had patted her hand gently as if to say he understood. His eyes, however, seemed to conceal that he knew exactly what Hermione was, but that was not the time to tell it. He stroked the Eye of Agamotto around his neck and said nothing further on it.

Loki had actually found the Doctor’s presence quite tolerable, and Doctor Strange seemed to bring a certain peace back into Hermione’s life. That alone made Loki much more apt to accept his visits. Hermione had shown a great affinity to the learning of the Doctor’s particular brand of sorcery, and much like she did with Loki, she learned it with her own passion. Hermione had confessed it was like the days of old when Minerva McGonagall had taken her under wing as her apprentice. It was something she treasured in both Loki and her new friend. They both spoke to her in the language of magic. Hermione seemed to be the peacemaker between them, making the two scions of magic more prone to have tea together instead of fight.

Strangely enough, Loki harboured no jealousy at the Doctor’s visits, and the Sorcerer Supreme showed no sign of wanting to be anything but a mentor and ally. Loki knew that Hermione craved companionship of those of like mind and magic, but her jaunts into the Wizarding World were too few and far between to make lasting friends. Those friends she did make, often died “quickly” in comparison to her, causing the witch no shortness of grief. Loki understood the craving to feel a part of a group all too well, and Hermione never let him feel left out long enough to start feeling envy. She shared what she learned with Loki with no hesitation. Their magic had become one, and keeping things from him was, as she put it, cutting off her nose to spite her face. Seeing as he quite liked her face as it was, he didn’t argue.

Loki took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. He stared down at the woman on the stretcher, watching her hand and arm grow darker as he watched. He would have to do something soon, or she would most likely die or be in a condition where dying would have been preferable. As it was, she was probably going to lose her hand. Small price to pay, perhaps, to keep your life, but he had a feeling that “being a heroine” and “being a handless heroine” did not go well with the more fragile human ego. He should know, considering he made it his business to break the human psyche into as many painful pieces as possible once upon a time.

“You should bring her inside,” Loki said after a moment. “I hope you brought rope. You are probably going to have to tie her down. Mother, if you could—”

“Of course, my son,” Frigga answered, putting her hands on the twins’ shoulders.

“Will it be dangerous, father?” the twins asked, worried.

Loki tilted his head in response. “For her, yes, and it is nothing you need to be seeing just yet.”

The twins, knowing that when their parents said you don’t need to see something that their parents were probably right, nodded. “You will be safe, father?” they asked.

Loki nodded. He gestured with a jerk of his head to the guards, and they took up the stretcher and carried the woman into the cottage.

Frigga placed her hands on her grandchildren’s shoulders with a sigh of both relief and weariness. There was a time not so long ago that Loki would have let the woman die simply to watch how long it would take, thinking that anyone stupid enough to get bit by Jörmungandr’s brood was deserving of whatever fate they brought upon themselves. To be fair, he probably still thought the same thing, but at least he went through the motions of saving the woman from an excruciating death. She had no doubt at all that Lady Hermione’s influence had kindled her son’s return to the type of person she could be proud of.

-o-o-o-

“Grandmother,” Friðr said, his hand tugging on her waist wrap. “Something odd is going on with mum.”

Frigga frowned, her brows furrowing. “How so, child?”

“She took us out to town for a game,” George said.

“But then she was mad when we came back with all the things she asked for,” Friðr complained.

“She’s always told us we’re so clever until now,” George said sombrely. “Have we disappointed her?”

“I don’t think she’s ever been disappointed in you, children,” Frigga said, stroking the both of them on their heads. “What did she have you fetch?”

“The sound of a cat’s footfall,” Friðr said. He pulled out a small device from his pocket and pressed a button. A sound like a thump was heard and an exhale before a low meow rumbled into the microphone.

“We followed the fattest cat around town to get it. All the smaller cats were too quiet,” George said proudly.

“That was very clever of you two,” Frigga said with a grin. “What else?”

“The beard of a woman,” George said.

“The circus was in town, Grandmother!” Friðr explained. “When we told her what our mother requested of us, she laughed and let us have the hairs from her beard she shaved before the show!” George held up a small jar with dark hairs in it.

Frigga laughed. “Excellent. Anything else?”

“Roots of the mountain,” Friðr said with a shake of his head. “That was harder. I think mum wanted us to use our brains for that one. Then I remembered how she said Muggles dug deep into the ground to find veins of semi-precious and precious stones.”

“The local mine is known for their topaz, and they let us take one of the smaller but flawed veins to keep,” George said, pulling out a grey stone with a gold streak going through it.

Frigga smiled. “How generous of them. Did you thank them properly?”

The twins nodded.

“Good,” she said with a nod. “What else?”

“Sinews of a bear,” George said, pulling out a small bag. He pulled out a bundle of dried white sinew. “That was easy. The hunter lodge had a team of Americans flying in to hunt bear and they were preparing to move the carcass.”

“We asked if we could have some of the sinew,” Friðr explained. “They said we were welcome to take as much as we wanted if we helped them field dress. We had no idea what they meant, but they taught us. They even let us have a tub of the meat for stew and a couple of the claws as souvenirs for a job well done!”

Frigga laughed. “Such charmers you are. I’m proud of you.”

The twins head bobbed excitedly.

“Did she have you bring anything else?”

“Odd ones,” the twins chimed. “Breath of a fish and spittle of a bird.”

“I spent an hour with a vial catching bubbles from a fish in the aquarium,” George said.

“I pissed off a Fulmar chick at the zoo coastal exhibit and got it to spit at me,” Friðr said sheepishly, holding up a little vial of oily looking fluid.

“He smelled for days,” George said, waving his hands as if to demonstrate.

Frigga shook her head. “You did very well, children,”she said. “I do not think your mother would be disappointed with your clever interpretation. Do you know where those things you gathered were once used?”

The twins shook their heads. They pulled up closer to their grandmother, hoping that she would tell them an epic story.

Frigga smiled. “Long ago, when the ages of Miðgarðr were still in infancy,” Frigga began, “and the ages of Ásgarðr were at war with many of those that are now our allies, There was a prophecy. This prophecy foretold the end of the world as we knew it.”

“The end of Ásgarðr?” Friðr piped the question.

“The end of all things, or so it was said,” Frigga said. “Borr, father of Odin, had three sons by the Jötunn Bestla. Odin, Vili, and Vé. Together, they slew the great giant Ymir and ended the rule of first giants and became the very first to be known as the Æsir.”

“Was Ymir a bad person?” George ask.

Frigga smiled. “Ymir was said to have been born of the very venom that dripped from the icy rivers of Élivágar. He lived in a place that deep in the void known as Ginnungagap. It is said that from his armpits came forth the first male and females, but he also beget a great six-headed Jötunn from his feet.”

“Ew,” Friðr said as he wrinkled his nose.

“So, Ymir came from poison,” George recalled. “So, his body was poison?”

“Nay,” Frigga replied. “When Ymir fell to the three brothers, his body was used to create earth, his blood became the first seas, his bones the hills, his hair the trees and plants, and his skull was the cradle of heaven. From his brows, they said, was created Miðgarðr, and his brain became that which all clouds originate.”

Friðr and George exchanged glances. “Wicked, we live on the body of a dead giant?”

Frigga chuckled. “If the old tales are to be believed, but I digress. It was foretold that one day, much like the three brothers dethroned the first giants, so too would the end of the gods that took their place come to pass. Odin, who had become the leader of the new gods, found this troubling. While he did not find his own eventual death so disturbing, he did not wish to see the end of all things, and in his mind, anything that brought about the death of the gods was the end of all things. Nothing else could bring out such a catastrophe.”

Friðr scrunched his face up. “But, when the three brothers slew Ymir, life was created anew.”

Frigga chuckled. “Innocence brings it’s own wisdom, child. Needless to say, Odin’s views that Ragnarök was something to be stopped became a popular shared view, and many read the prophecies in an attempt to find a way to keep it from happening.”

“But, what of our brother?” George said.

“Fenrisúlfr was fated to kill my husband,” Frigga said sadly. “In the final battle, he would cause Odin to fall and eat him. When the Æsir discovered Fenrisúlfr with his siblings, all the children of the giantess Angrboða and Loki, Odin threw Hel into Niflheim to preside over those that passed from the Nine Worlds in death. He cast the then smaller serpent Jörmungandr into the seas of Miðgarðr, and he brought Fenrisúlfr to Ásgarðr that the gods could keep watch over him.”

“Fenrisúlfr’s reputation, even then, was prophecy. Because of this, no one, save my son, Tyr would brave the task to bring him food. The wolf grew quickly, and so too did the fear that he would take up the mantle of prophecy and hasten Ragnarök,” Frigga continued her tale. “In order to solve this, the gods decided to bind the wolf. They made it game as to not arouse his suspicions. They would bind him, and he would break free. Every fetter they tried, they came up with new stories to encourage him to allow it. They wanted to test his strength, bring him more fame, or other such excuse.”

“They lied to him,” Friðr said darkly.

“Yes, child,” Frigga said. “They did, but he broke every binding they attempted, so he did not call foul. The ‘game’ continued until at least, on binding came that the Æsir believed Fenrisúlfr would not be able to break. It was crafted by the dwarven craftsman in the land called Svartálfaheimr. It was creating using what was viewed as the most impossible things and thus would be impossible to break.”

“The things mum had us gather,” George said. “Those were supposed to be impossible to find?”

Frigga nodded. “Gleipnir, the chain created from the impossible, was thin as a ribbon and stronger than any iron, and Fenrisúlfr smelled deceit upon the god’s request to put a paltry ribbon around his legs,” she continued. “He demanded that one of the gods place their hand into his mouth as a goodwill gesture, or he would not permit them to bind his legs.”

“Tyr,” Friðr said, “the warrior with only one hand.”

Frigga nodded. “The chain bound him, and when the gods would not remove it as promised, he bit off Tyr’s hand as he thrashed and tried to free himself. They bound him to a stone slab deep in the ground and used the great rock called Thviti to beat the anchor ever deeper into the ground. To keep him from biting, they thrust a sword between his jaws, and left him. They dared not kill him, because the place they had chosen to bind him in was sacred, and any blood spilt there, for any reason, was seen a crime far worse than killing a creature of prophecy.”

“So,” George said after a while. “Mother was trying to teach us the history of our wolf brother?”

Frigga nodded. “It appears so.”

George frowned. “Why not just tell us the story?”

Frigga smiled. “Perhaps she wanted to test how clever you truly are.”

George and Friðr grinned. “But, our brother is free of any chain,” George said. “Did you release him, grandmother?”

Frigga shook her head. “No, it was not I who did. We do not know who released him from his imprisonment. It was not Loki, for he too, was suffering his own punishment at the time for refusing to bring back my son, Baldr from death.”

“But, even the gods die, grandmother,” Friðr said. “Grandfather tells us this.”

Frigga sighed. “I was beside myself in grief, children. I managed to get Hel to agree that if all objects both dead and alive wept for him, she would release him from the underworld. Alas, not everything did. The Æsir and Asynjur blamed Loki, thinking he had shape-shifted and pretended to be those who refused to weep, and they cast him into the earth, much like his son, to await Ragnarök.”

The twins shook their heads, being a little too young to understand the complexities of Æsir stories, terms, and contradictions. “That doesn’t seem fair at all. Obviously someone agreed, both father and brother are free now.”

Frigga tilted her head and nodded silently.

“Who are the Asynjur, grandmother?” George asked.

“The Asynjur are the female goddesses, child,” Frigga explained. “Many times, we are grouped together as Æsir, but in truth, Æsir are the male gods.”

The twins tilted their heads. Friðr tapped his head with his palm as if to cram more terminology into his brain by force.

George seemed to realise something. “Mum always puts her hand into our brother’s mouth to greet him, and he closes his jaws around her hand.”

“He never bites her though,” Friðr said emphatically.

“He trusts her,” Frigga said, “and she trusts him. That is a great gift from him consider what has been done to him.”

“Don’t you trust him, grandmother?” George said. “He has never shown us violence.”

“I trust that he means neither of you harm,” Frigga said honestly, “but I fear the prophecy that says he will be the one to kill my husband. I fear I cannot trust him as you do.”

Friðr shook his head. “He’s a good brother,” he said, convinced.

“This may be so,” Frigga said sadly, “but his wrath is legendary.”

The twins scrunched their face up, having too many deep thoughts in their heads to know how to react to the story. Instead, they decided a new venue was in order. “Tell us another story, grandmother,” they chimed, casting the story of accusation, betrayal, and wrath aside.

Frigga shook her head and smiled. This was why she loved the young and idealistic whose memories of the horrible were cast aside so easily in favour of more interesting tales. “Of course,” she purred.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Fenrisúlfr’s teeth dripped with blood, and his red tongue flicked over his teeth and lips as he shook his head back and forth as the body of the unfortunate guard cracked and went limp. The giant wolf growled lowly, shook his head violently a few more times, and flung the carcass aside. He licked his side where a spear had pierced his thick hide where multiple bullets, rays, and energy attacks did not. There were only two things that he knew could pierce his hide: his father’s magic and bear hands, and the enchanted weapons of the Æsir and Asynjur (the female goddesses) of Ásgarðr.

Her scent was here. It was fading, but it was here. The small group of elite guards had been nothing to Fenrisúlfr. It mattered not to him who or what the guards were. To him, they were nothing but in the way, and anything that was in the way was to be dragged out of the way.

The scents of the guards did not seem familiar, yet this place that he found them was one of the oldest travel conduits of the gods. Through them, if they were properly activated, the gods could quickly travel from one node to another with great haste. It was much like the strange fireplace that Hermione had shoved him into and thrown some sort of ash on him that made him sneeze. The enchanted fireplace had taken him to different location. The old conduits were the same, only with less sneezing and far less grooming afterwards.

Fenrisúlfr grabbed the cast aside weapons in his mouth, went on his hind legs to splay his front paws on the nearest focal stone, and gave a growling bark. His fur stood on end as though he were caught in one of Thor’s storms, and with a loud whoosh, he was transported into the gloom of the familiar and hated tunnels he knew all too well.

The great wolf growled lowly, his fur raising on his neck. He padded down the darkened corridors with quiet footsteps, finding his way in the gloom thanks to phosphorescent glow of the bioluminescent fungi. He sniffed the air for scents of anyone who might linger in the darkness, but there was nothing, save the growing scent of Hermione and the faded scents of those that may have been with her.

The location, however, was all too familiar. This place was the pathway to where his sire had been tied and bound to the rocks and forced to endure the serpent dripping venom onto his body. It was penance, supposedly, for his part in the death of Baldr. His sire’s scent no longer hung in the air like the metal tang of rust. The ground no longer trembled when Sigyn left to empty the venom bowl because Loki had been freed by Fenrisúlfr.

Fenrisúlfr curled his lips back from his teeth. The venomous serpent had venom like acid and it had taken up its post to drip it’s poison upon Loki until Ragnarök. It had been a parting gift from the Jötunn goddess Skaði, mate of Njöðr. Njöðr was Æsir, yet he married Skaði due to some restitution for killing Skaði’s father Þjaz. Apparently there was bad blood between herself and Loki, but the wolf had no idea why.

The more Fenrisúlfr thought about it, the more his brain hurt. “I and my friends killed your father. Come to Ásgarðr where we shall make you a goddess and my wife” did not seem very logical to him. They accepted her without quibbling over her race, yet ostracised Loki for his. He figured he cared only for the more simple needs. He desired his freedom so he could run where he wished, sleep where he desire, and hunt as it pleased him. Other than a few disagreements over the choice of who or what to hunt, he tended to be a simple wolf with simple pleasures—at least he thought so. People, whether Jötunn or of Ásgarðr, had equal amounts of quirks. People of Miðgarðr apparently had their own issues if they would throw their lives away guarding and old gateway of the gods. Gateways of the gods tended to be visited by gods. To expect otherwise would be both illogical and short-sighted.

At the moment, however, Fenrisúlfr wanted to find out why Hermione’s scent was in the air of such an ancient and forgotten place, and he found it shortly after trekking through the twisting tunnels. Hermione lay sprawled between the same rocks Loki once did.

The great wolf spat out the gathered weapons in his mouth and bounded over to her, tail wagging and nose snuffling her in greeting. Perhaps she had found herself in hibernation unexpectedly and someone had taken advantage of her? His nose worked as he snuggled up against her, tasting the scents on her. She had no clothes on, save her knickers, and while that wasn’t exactly unheard of, Hermione wasn’t the type to just strip down and sleep somewhere without his sire’s company or without him to guard her. It had become expected and normal. He even enjoyed guarding them as they slept and keeping a watchful eye upon their pups.

Fenrisúlfr frowned mentally as Hermione didn’t respond. His eyes focused on the bindings that were holding her to the stones, and he growled lowly in recognition. It was Gleipnir— the same ribbon chain that had bound his legs and forced his incarceration so many centuries past. There was only one way Gleipnir could possibly end up here, and it was by the hand of the one who had freed him and taken the hated chain away: Sigyn, wife of Loki.

This put the wolf in dilemma. Sigyn had freed him from his bindings, so he owed her a debt. Hermione, however, had done the one thing no Æsir and Asynjur had dared to do: befriend him. Sigyn had released him, but it had not been for trust. It had been so he would run deep within the bowels of Miðgarðr and free his Sire. This time, however, his fangs and claws would not help him. Gleipnir had been created specifically to foil him. The delicate looking chain was tied like a cord, and wolf teeth were not designed for delicate manipulation.

Putting aside his thoughts of Sigyn for the moment, the huge wolf shifted his priorities. He flopped down next to her, snuggling his warm body up against her, draping his huge legs over her in a wolf cuddle, and wedged his head against the junction of her neck and shoulder. Perhaps, in the time it took her to wake, he would have a plan to get her free without betraying his need to protect her.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Hermione opened her eyes into the dull a palate of dull colours that reminded her of a landscape of fog. Her mind was groggy, and she felt as though she had missed something important. When she tried to focus on it, nothing happened. Her mind simply refused to tell her. She groaned as she sat up, her limbs feeling heavy with sleep.

“It’s about time you woke up, Miss Granger,” a familiar rumbling voice greeted her. “I was beginning to think you would sleep forever.”

“Severus?” Hermione murmured, turning her head to see the painfully familiar black-robed wizard staring back at her with his equally familiar dark eyes. “Are you real?”

“What an idiotic question,” the Dark wizard scolded, holding out his hand to help her up.

Hermione bit her lip and clasped his hand. It was warm and real. She felt the tears running down her face as she pulled herself up and slammed into his body, clutching the frame of his body under his robes.

His arms went around her, as supportive as she remembered it to be. “Stupid girl,” he admonished. “Letting someone hoodwink you as an old woman. Did you remember nothing of what I taught you?”

Hermione sank into her friend’s robes. “May I confess to some haziness in this area?”

Severus snorted. He gently combed her hair with his hand. “You let one Dark wizard turn you into the world’s first living Philosopher’s Stone, and you stop paying attention to the basics.”

Hermione thunked her head against Severus’ ribcage. “To be fair, it took me a decade to figure that part out.”

“Oh that’s a wonderful test of your perceptional awareness,” Severus snarked.

Hermione pulled back and stared into his face, her lip quivering. She stood frozen a moment before she burst out laughing. “I’ve missed you, Severus.”

Severus’ black eyes locked with hers, softening. “I have missed our debates on the stupidity of your friends,” he said with a sniff.

Hermione smiled warmly before her brows furrowed. “Am I dead? I didn’t think… it figures I would die when things were finally peaceful.”

Severus shook his head. “No, Hermione. You’re not dead just yet.”

Hermione’s eyebrows furrowed. “But…” She stared at him as if his very being there should explain her reasoning.

“Consider this the equivalent of a Muggle layover at the airport,” Severus said. “Or one of those really horrible lines at Gringotts when the influx of new First Years and their parents flood in.”

“I’m in line to die?” Hermione sputtered.

“Idiot girl, think,” Severus muttered, tapping her forehead with his fingers. “You’re in line to fight you way back to life.”

Hermione opened her mouth and then closed it. “Oh.” Her mind snapped back to the descriptions Harry had confessed after his near death experience and how he had been stuck in a cleaner version of King’s Cross Station. She looked around her, taking in the grey and hazy landscape. “I guess I just—”

“Thought it would be like Potter’s description?” Snape finished for her.

Hermione slumped. “Cut me some slack, Severus. It’s not like I’ve had multiple experiences with death to know better.” She took a deep breath. “I am glad you are here with me. Waking up alone here would have been horrible.”

“Who else to keep your horrible Gryffindor sensibilities in line, hrm?” the Potion Master asked.

Hermione snorted. “Why are you here, Severus?” she said, pondering something to herself. “Surely there is a more exciting ‘afterlife’ somewhere that doesn’t involve beating your old student, colleague, and friend mentally for being Gryffindor?”

Snape stared off into the hazy, grey, and mist-covered landscape. “I did not wish to see you wake alone here. No one should have to, not knowing where they are.”

Hermione’s eyes flickered, realisation stirring. She clasped his hand. In that moment she knew that no one had greeted Severus after he died. He had woken to the greyness of the world beyond with no friend to ease his passage and no loved one to celebrate his return to them. Apparently, even his mother, whom he had at least had better terms than his father, had not been there.

Severus’ fingers curled around hers. “She chose to be reborn,” he said, seemingly reading her thoughts in the limbo world as he did in life. “She did not wait. As I understand it, that is common in those whose last life were greatly abusive.”

Hermione squeezed his fingers a little more tightly. “Does time pass differently here for you?”

Severus nodded. “To each, it is different, I think,” he said thoughtfully. “We all seem to be in our own bubble. I find myself under a great tree with water around and a bookcase nearby that always seems to have something interesting in it. Sometimes, I would hear you speaking to me at the gravestone. It would sometimes be as if only hours had passed. Sometimes, it would be days or seemingly months or years. I would often scold you as I heard your voice, telling you that you were becoming just as insufferable in my afterlife as you were in life.”

Hermione laughed softly. “I imagine you would,” she said gently, staring at him with the warmth she never failed to have for her cranky old friend. “How did you know I was here? How did you know where to find me?”

The old Potion Master shook his head. “I felt it,” he replied. “I knew, and—”

Hermione looked up as he paused. She felt there was something significant in what he was going to say, but she had no idea to what extent.

“I chose to be here,” he said simply.

“You’ve always been a great friend to me, Severus,” Hermione confessed.

“Tell that to your eleven-year-old self,” Severus snorted.

“Once we were actually friends,” Hermione corrected, sticking her tongue out.

“Mature,” Severus noted.

Hermione shook her head. “It’s sad, but,” she said after a while, “I don’t even remember much of my early years. There was a time when that was all I could remember, but now I can’t even remember how old I am.”

“And now, you mingle with gods,” Severus said with an exhale, “and sorcerers, and all manners of aliens.”

Hermione chuckled. “No one is more surprised than I, Severus.”

“He swears to me, on my grave each year, that he will fight for you until the end of all things,” Severus admitted. “Despite his being God of Lies, he seems quite sincere in his promise.”

“It means a lot to me that he would seek your approval,” Hermione said, staring into the mists. “I think you two would have had interesting conversations. He is… very Slytherin.”

Snape arched a brow at her.

Hermione waved her hands in appeasement.

“My opinion hardly matters to a god, Hermione,” Snape said softly.

“It does to him because it does to me,” Hermione said adamantly. “You were a true friend when I needed it the most after the war, when all others moved on and had their happy, healed lives. You understood that some wounds take more than smile and rushed marriage to heal.”

“No regrets for not being the next Mrs. Weasley?” Snape asked with a sniff.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Ron was happy in the end with the witch who could give him all the things he needed when he needed it, and that included the six children, white picket fence, and genetic predisposition to horrible table manners.”

Severus looked down. “I’m sorry.”

Hermione looked up. “Whatever for?”

The Potion Master fidgeted. “I’m sorry I was never brave enough to be more than a friend to you. You deserved better.”

Hermione smiled at him. “You gave what you were able to give, Severus. I just came,” she trailed off for a moment. “I came too late in your life for you accept me as anything more.”

“I was a fool,” Snape said.

“We had decades together as the best of friends, Severus,” Hermione said wistfully. “It was not so small a thing you gave me. I’ve missed you horribly. I still do.”

“Potter will be so aggrieved to hear it was not him you just confessed to missing,” Severus snarked.

“Harry isn’t here to keep me company,” Hermione said realistically. “No one but you, Severus, found your way to me. Something tells me this is a significant sort of epiphany.”

“Always the Know-it-all,” Severus said with a twitch of his lips. “I will admit that pondering the look on Weasley’s face if he found out you are mated to a god amuses me.”

Hermione snorted. “Or that I named my sons after his twin brothers and not after Harry and him?”

“Fitting names for the spawn of a God of Lies and Mischief, I suppose,” Severus agreed.

Hermione gave him a playful swat. “They are fine boys. Smart, cunning, and they would never attempt to stir the wrong direction on step seven of the Water-breathing Potion. You would like them.”

Severus gave her a dubious look.

Hermione leaned into his shoulder, bumping her head against it.

They stood in peaceful enjoyment of each other’s company.

“This fight back to the living is going to hurt, isn’t it?” Hermione speculated softly.

“Most likely,” Severus said after a while, turning his gaze to her with sympathy.

“I’m frightened of what is to come,” Hermione said with trepidation in her voice.

“I fear I know little of what is to come,” Severus confessed, “but I have no doubt you will conquer whatever tasks are set before you.”

Hermione gripped his hand reflexively. “Will you stay with me until the end?” she asked almost so quiet that her voice was barely audible.

Severus’ dark eyes met hers and his hand slipped out from under her hand and covered hers with a gentle squeeze. “Always.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Long chapter is long! Had to end it here before it became its own novel! (Also, I have a metric arse-ton of homework, discussions, worksheets, and a paper to do, so I have to get back to that before it rises up and devours me alive! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!)


	6. The Worth Rise As the Unworthy Fall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Characters belonging to Marvel, JKR, and the Norse Myths belong to Marvel, JKR, and the Norse Myths.
> 
> Beta Love: fluffpanda, who really outdid herself on this one. Praise her, and send her cookies.

**Chapter 6: The Worthy Rise as the Unworthy Fall Into Obscurity**

The bodies of hundreds of foes lay before her, and Hermione was covered in blood. Her teeth were clenched, her eyes flashed with smoky fire, and dark chaos swirled around her as electric blue magic entwined with it. Her hair flared out like hundreds of sentient tentacles, and a lone dagger nestled in her dominant hand.

It began as mind games, challenging her wit, but wit was soon replaced by physical altercations with foes who cared not for witty repartee. The fights had started as one-on-one battles, but now they came in floods. She sent waves of spells at the incoming mass, and the ones that slipped through, she finished off with a transfigured rib of some beast that looked like it belonged in a nightmare.

The physical fighting had come as desperation when the first few broke through her wall of magic. It was awkward, panicked, and sloppy, but the beasts lay at her feet in death. When the next waves came, she felt something rising up within her. Her magic was joined with something buried deep inside. Her hair fluttered around her head as though it was alive, black tendrils of chaos whipped out from her body like living tentacles, and she descended into a sort of battle fervour she didn't know she had. With each foe that fell, she would get a flash of insight that told her how to deal with those like it, and her mind filed it away with growing skill, pulling it up as each wave came, fell, and came again.

Suddenly, she recalled hundreds of lessons in dagger work and hundreds more of other weapons, but they were not her memories. They were Loki's. The coiled black energy around her was his domain as well, but it had integrated into her core and made itself at home.

Hermione hissed, eyes bleeding into a pure electric blue, and as an arm reach out to strangle her, the coiled serpent around her neck struck, and Ouroboros hit his mark. The foe yelled as the venom worked quickly, and the adversary fell to the ground in convulsions.

She thrust out her arm and a huge black raven landed on her wrist, and she whispered into his ear as her fiery eyes glowered into the battlefield. The raven seemed to transform, his sleek black feathers turning into quicksilver, and he launched from her arm. He shot off into the battlefield in a blur of metallic fury and returned to her arm with a loud caw. Her foes fell around her, their eyes torn from their cavities.

Hermione bared her teeth, caught in the heat of battle, blood dripping off her dagger as magic swirled around her in testament to her fury. Her robes had transformed, looking more and more like an ebony version of Loki's trappings only where his armour had sported gold, hers shone with bright silver. Leather now wrapped around her body in both long calf-hugging boots and thickened leather hides with fine obsidian scales criss-crossed across her chest like the scales of a dragon. Clawed gauntlets covered her arms and hands; pauldrons spread across her shoulders with an intricate relief of screaming gryphons, and serpents curved around the vambraces covering her upper arm. Around her neck, wrapped in iridescent detailed scales, was a serpent gorget that formed the great Ouroboros. A circlet hugged her head, woven into her hair and curving out from it was two backwards curling silver horns like the armour of a mountain ram, giving her the look of both God and demon.

With each wave of attackers, her armour grew more detailed. With each thrust of her magic or her dagger, it solidified more greatly. She screamed, and her magic rose within and surged outward, the combined roar of raw magic and pure chaos combined. The raven launched above her as a giant wave of foes surged towards her, and she rose her hands above her and slapped them together as the raven landed upon her gauntlets and spread his wings like a thunderbird. He cawed, and the pulse of his fury fanned out with the fury of Hermione's conjoined magic, and the blast radiating outward and over the battlefield with the wrath of her scream.

Bodies flew backwards. Some disintegrated and some tumbled backwards into others. Heads rolled, bodies crumpled; screams joined with roars, and all the while, Hermione's eyes were the purest blue of her Magical fury.

"Enough!" a female voice boomed across the battlefield as a black robed figure with a skull face approached in the mist. The body seemed feminine and so too did the voice, but Hermione knew the one who approached was neither male nor female. It was Death.

"In blood and mind, you have survived the Gauntlet," Death's velvet voice purred. "You and your witness have earned your return. You may go.

Death approached and her bony hands moved to each side of her cheek and pulled Hermione closer. Death's skull face pressed a kiss to her forehead, and Hermione felt a burn between her eyes.

"But know this, Hermione the Sorceress, Mother and Executioner," Death said as stepped away. "As you are to your mate, you are also Mine. Forever, you and those bound to you will send those destined to my embrace and into my waiting arms. It is the Fate of those who have earned their time unending. Wear proudly the entrapments of your battle, for they are the markings of a Goddess amongst sheep. They are crafted in the fury of your conviction and the blood of your enemies. Let none who see them doubt your Trial victorious."

"And you, Witness," Death said, pointing a bony finger at the raven. "Care you so much to bind yourself to this one? The contract for such a thing is life, and hers is to be unending. There will be no end to your service."

The raven cawed a raspy reply.

"So be it, Witness," Death said finally. "And you, Serpent?" Death's gaze went to Hermione's neck.

Ouroboros tightened His coils around Hermione's gorget in reply.

Death snorted. "Not even one step out of my Domain, and you have two _chevaliers_ to your eternal vigil, Hermione. Not many could say the same. Perhaps, you should ask your friend, Dr Strange, how many left with him."

"The die has been cast," Death said formally. "The allegiances have been chosen. Leave my Domain with my blessing for there can be only one Death here."

Death raised one bony hand and waved it to the side as if moving a curtain to the side, and Hermione was tumbled backwards into darkness. "Happy birthday," Death's voice said Hermione was embraced in the arms of oblivion.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Joanne's eyes fluttered open as pain shot through every nerve she had. She felt something on her hand, and she tried to move it, but a vice-like grip held her tightly.

Joanne struggled, her eyes focusing, and she saw ice-blue eyes staring at her as he latched onto her hand. He was sucking on her hand; she could feel the burning pressure, and it terrified her. She desperately tried to free her hand, but he glared at her, holding her hand still as he continued to suck. He pulled away, blood dripping from his mouth mixed with what appeared to be glowing green liquid.

Loki.

The God of Lies and Mischief was glowering at her with unveiled hatred. "Be still, Joanne," he said with a highly controlled tone. "You wouldn't want any of this venom to stay in your body. You're only lucky he barely sank fang into your hand. You would have died much more painfully quick otherwise." Loki's blue eyes had bled crimson. "Not that you don't deserve it." He latched onto her hand once more, sucking more of the venom that was working its way towards her heart. Joanne screamed in pain, feeling every nerve in her body screaming in tandem with her.

Loki pulled back once more, blood and venom dripping from his mouth. He grimaced at her, spitting into the nearby bowl. "I will be quick and to the point since you have little time left," he explained. "What you answer to my questions will determine whether you lose only a few fingers to your stupidity or your arm, so be careful if you think lying is a good idea to a God."

Loki had a dagger in his hand as he stabbed further up her arm, and his eyes locked on hers as she screamed. He put his mouth over the wound and began to suck again. More bright green venom mixed with blood dripped from his mouth. "So tell me, Joanne of Miðgarðr," he hissed through bloody teeth. "Where. Is. Hermione?"

Joanne's eyes widened in fear as the pain in her arm seemed to both get better and worse at the same time. "I don't know," she pleaded.

Loki's eyes bored into her as his fingers tightened around her wrist, sending shooting pain up her arm. "Wrong answer."

Joanne trembled as she realised that Loki would save her. He would suck all the poison out as painfully as possible, and then he would make her wish the venom had killed her. He would do it gladly with a smile on his face because she had assisted in the abduction of someone he cared about. Unlike her, when the God of Lies and Mischief was separated from someone they cared about, he did not quibble over moral quandary. It didn't matter that she didn't believe in Gods. It didn't matter if she believed that Gods were just more advanced people who posed as deities. What mattered was that this particular "God" was the only thing standing between her and a very painful venomous death.

As if to answer her, Loki bared his teeth at her. "Tell me, Joanne," he purred. "Do you believe in Gods?" His hand tightened around her wrist.

"N…no!" she cried truthfully. "There is no such thing as real gods. Only those who live longer and are more advanced than us!"

"Pity," Loki said matter-of-factly. "You might want pray to some of those non-existent Gods, considering what a mess you're in." Loki tied a tourniquet around her upper arm and pulled it tight, causing her to scream. "Just because you do not believe, doesn't make them not exist." Loki was on her wound again, sucking and sending wave after wave of excruciating pain up her arm.

Loki spat more of the blood and venom out into the bowl. "Let's try this again, shall we, Joanne?" He levelled his crimson eyes with hers, his skin turning a dark cobalt blue. "I would hate for this to get back to that lovely daughter you left with your parents so you could pursue a life as a heroine. Do your parents know what you do for a living? Do they realise their daughter sets herself and others on fire for a job?"

Joanne looked at him with a new kind of fear.

"Where. Is. My. Mate?"

The sounds of Joanne's painful screams continued for the next hour.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-

"Will she live, brother?" Thor asked, sitting down beside Loki on the garden wall. Mjölnir thunked into the side of the stone wall with a clank.

Loki tilted his head to look at his blond-haired brother. "She will."

Thor let out a long sigh. "I know you care not for the lives of those I chose to work with, but I thank you."

Loki's eyes narrowed, but said nothing.

Thor watched the twins hanging on Hermione's arms in the garden. They twirled her around, leading her around the garden and bumping her into things. "She had changed you, brother," Thor said quietly. "There was a time not so long ago you would have let her die, consequences be damned."

Loki curled his lip. "I did not do it for her," he said, pointing his finger at the _Hermione_ in his garden. "I did it for Hermione."

Thor furrowed his brows. "I do not understand."

Loki slid his eyes over to look at his brother. "That," he said with a dangerous glint to his eyes, "is not the real Lady Hermione."

"You're joking."

"Do I look like I am joking, brother?"

"No, you do not, which is always far more disturbing."

Loki raised an eyebrow. "Ask her to do something she would never do. Make it convincing. Make sure to call her Lady Hermione."

"She will turn me into one of those diving suit baubles and throw me into the aquarium, brother," Thor said darkly, "again."

Loki shook his head.

"If that is not her, why do you let your children hang upon her?" Thor asked.

"They are testing the limits of her patience using both trickery and magic," Loki said. "I wish to see how long it will take for her to break and make a mistake."

"You already know she is not Lady Hermione," Thor reasoned. "Why wait?"

"No one will believe how I know," Loki said with a sniff.

Thor was silent for a moment. "Tell me, brother."

"No matter how angry or frustrated _that_ Hermione gets, nothing strange ever happens," Loki said casually. "She never counters the twin's magic. She never uses magic. When have you ever known Hermione not to use her magic as casually as one might scratch their nose?"

Thor shook his head.

"She flinches when my eyes shift," Loki said. "She finds an excuse to avoid my touch when my skin is anything but this." He held his pale hand out. "Her magic does not sing around her when she stands in the sun in the morning, nor does it when the moon rises. She actually said we should have a nanny to tend the children."

Loki stared off into the distance. "I have absolutely no desire to sleep when she is near."

Thor lifted his head at this. His brother and Lady Hermione had literally slept decades away at a time. With the children, however, it had been more days at a time rather than weeks or years, but, much like Odinsleep, the conjoined sleep patterns had been unavoidable. Thor had become super-aware of every time one of their sleep cycles had occurred because that was the time that Thor, his mother, Sif, and the Warriors Three got to spend their time with the kids.

"My magic is restless," Loki said. "Searching, hungry, waiting… it should be calm with her.

Thor stood up. "Did I tell you, brother, that one day I left Mjölnir on the table in your dining room to play with the twins, and she just picked it up and moved it to the window so she could clean the table?"

Loki lifted his brows. Mjölnir was a fickle weapon that seemed to have its own ideas on who was "worthy" enough to pick it up. It often, strangely, allowed children to pick it up and move it, and Thor and Loki had once pondered if it was their inherent innocence that Mjölnir picked up on. If that was the case, the weapon was aware of the difference between child and adult, innocence and worthiness, and perhaps a host of different values that only boggled the mind to think about.

"Did you ever tell her about Mjölnir?" Loki asked.

Thor shook his head. "Nay, brother. I simply found it amusing. It was not the only time I watched her do it."

"She would likely make up some logical reason why she could pick it up," Loki mused.

"Worthiness isn't a good enough reason?" Thor asked.

Loki snorted. "It has nothing to do with whether she is worthy, brother," he explained. "It has everything to do with whether she saw herself as anything more than a long-lived witch."

"Don't think I do not see what you are doing, brother," Thor said, tapping his hand against Mjölnir.

Loki slid his eyes to the side. "Hrm?"

Thor snorted. "You are training her to be a Goddess."

"Think her not worthy?" Loki asked, not even bothering to deny it.

"Nay," Thor answered with a shake of his head. "I have seen her fight. I have seen her stand up to you, and I have felt her stand up to me." Thor rubbed his head in recollection of the rain of mangosteens and coconuts that had graced his first meeting with the witch. "I have also had to clean up what happens when the two of you… get emotional." Thor arched a brow at Loki knowingly.

Loki's eyes widened in mock shock. "Whatever do you mean, brother?"

Thor sniffed thoughtfully. "The last time you had a row, it rained cheese wheels in West Africa, brother. It was practically, what did Jane use to call it? 'Fondue party'."

Loki tilted his head. "I can hardly be held accountable for that," Loki shrugged off the accusation.

Thor gave his brother the highly practised look that translated into "I'll believe that when goats eat at the dinner table in Ásgarðr." The God of Thunder sniffed. "When you 'made up,' my dear brother, there were full moons for a full week. The mortals thought the world was ending. The coral reefs grew so fast; they shipwrecked over a hundred ships before they realised what had happened."

Loki gave Thor his "Yes, and?" look.

Thor glared at him. "The Golden Gate Bridge's steel turned into Vibranium."

"Think of the money saved on paint and maintenance," Loki mused.

"And then turned into carrot the moment they tried to cut a piece off and use it!" Thor grunted.

"That's what they get for trying to harvest a perfectly good bridge for greed," Loki countered. "Bridge still there?"

"Yes," Thor answered wearily. "Anything they didn't try to cut off remains Vibranium, but the moment they try and remove anything, it turns into a root vegetable."

"Let me get this straight, brother," Loki said. "You are complaining to me that a bridge that was slated to undergo overhaul after hundreds of mortal years of use and abuse was replaced by an exact replica only constructed with Vibranium—the very stuff Mr Patriotism of the good ole' U.S. of A liked to fling around as a shield— for free and this upsets you?"

"Well, not exactly," Thor started to reply.

"And, because humans can never just accept a gift for what it is and let it do its job, they had to try and rip pieces off of it in order to harvest the Vibranium. The Vibranium, oddly enough, transformed into carrot the moment they removed it from the bridge?" Loki surmised.

"Yes," Thor answered. "As I understand it."

"And you didn't just laugh in their faces for how stupid they are?" Loki asked. "I can only hope they didn't try to shave off one of the support trusses for their little greed experiment."

Thor rubbed his head. "You think they deserved it?"

Loki snorted. "They deserved everything they got for that," he replied.

"You completely derailed the conversation where I was accusing you of sowing chaos every time you—" Thor trailed off.

"Hrm?" Loki said, arching a brow at him, his face deadpan.

"Don't make me say it out loud," Thor begged.

"Consider this repayment for all the times you came to me in the night, knackered so mightily that you made love with my bedpost thinking it was a… how did you put it?" Loki pondered. "Oh, yes. Comely wench with fine ankles and shapely child-bearing hips."

Thor flushed, staring at his toes. "You are never going to forget that, are you?"

"I would if I could, but for the hundredth repetitions you doth force upon my mind wildst I try and sleep," Loki said, twisting his voice into a sing-song speech pattern. "I fear I cannot." Loki turned his eyes to stare at his brother with his icy blue gaze.

"Could you not get drunk but once, brother?" Thor complained. "If only that I might be on equal ground in humiliation?"

Loki donned a half smile. "Perhaps, if ever I were to remarry."

"I shall annul that horrid first marriage of yours myself, hammer in hand, brother," Thor spouted, "if only for the prospect of seeing what happens when my high-ground brother becomes inebriated."

"You shall be waiting a long time," Loki said with an eyebrow arched. "Seeing how our father did marry me off to a goddess and feeds her the Apples of Iðunn to insure her youthfulness lasts as long as he wills it."

"Surely she did some technicality that can allow you to wriggle free of it?" Thor bemoaned.

"As it is, dear brother," Loki replied, "I was the one who did the cross dressing that would have given her every reason to divorce me. Yet, even when I lay with Angrboða and sired her children, Sigyn refused to divorce me."

"And you did try, didn't you, brother?" Thor said sadly. "So many things to get her to repudiate you—many of which I helped you with."

Loki snorted. "She would not divorce me for wearing a woman's clothes, as per the wording in our contract. She would not after I sired a giantess' children and had monstrous babies. She would not after I turned myself into a mare and had my own… baby horse."

"He was a really cute eight-legged bugger," Thor chuckled.

Loki rolled his eyes. "I have the feeling that her desire for status and children with potential heirs to the throne meant more to her any transgression I did to get her to divorce me."

Thor frowned. "Until your fall."

"Well, the Æsir did ensure that my children with her did not grow up to ascend the throne, didn't they?" Loki said with a curl of his lip, a hint of the old, bitter hatred leaked from his voice.

Thor flinched, closing his eyes. "Aye." Apologies had already been made over the entire incident, ironically due to Hermione's influence. During one of many fights between him and his brother, Hermione had finally had enough of watching her garden being torn asunder by their godly arguments.

Hermione had stormed out into the "battlefield" that was her front lawn, tripped up and bound Thor and Loki by their legs, encased Mjölnir in something Thor vaguely recalled being like a jelly dessert, and bound their mouths with something she had called "duct tape," and stood between them. Her magic had flared around her like her private storm cloud, and much like the storms that Thor conjured, the electricity whipped out from her body and slapped both gods in the face.

"Look at the two of you!" she had demanded. "Fighting like young children whose toys were taken away, and instead of putting your heads together and repairing the toy, you throw things at each other blaming the other for your mutual fault!

"I have two young children asleep in that house," Hermione had seethed. "Two brilliant young boys who want nothing more than the love of their family, and you two, seem bound and determined to blow it to pieces!"

Loki and Thor had looked like they were trying to say something, but Hermione's eyes had glowed bright blue with her ire. "Nay, not this time," she had growled. "You!" she had accused, pointing her finger at Thor and then at Loki. "You are brothers. _Brothers_! You were gifted something that many on this Earth will not understand until it is taken away from them, and unlike you, there will not be the opportunity to make nice later after a few centuries of cooling down!

"You make a paltry gift of the chance you have been given," Hermione said, her voice breaking with emotion. "To be able to start over? To make amends? To—" Hermione's voice had cracked as black tendrils of chaotic magic writhed around her. The ground under Thor had become as dry as a bone and cracked open, and the ground under Loki had changed into a bog and swallowed him up to his waist.

Hermione's face had twisted with some inner agony as she glowered at the pair of them. "Do you know what I would give… to have one day when I could go back and say all the things I was too scared, too arrogant, too prideful to do back when I should have done it?"

A tear had trickled down Hermione's cheek, and she had blinked back the rest of her tears. "I _Obliviated_ my parents. They never forgave me. As much as I begged. As much as I pleaded. I saved their lives, but it didn't matter. And then," she had choked, "I did the very same thing by refusing to forgive Ron for being human—for being _fallible_."

Hermione had looked skyward; one more trickle of tears escaped down her opposite cheek. "He died, thinking me the coldest bitch on the planet. He died surrounded in family and those who loved him, and I," she had trailed off. "Who would stand at the grave of Hermione Granger and mourn her passing of all of my supposed friends I knew since childhood? None! None, because none of them survived me. None of them even really knew me save one, and I will never get to argue with him again. I will never hear him call me a stupid girl and tell me that I am a sentimental fool."

"So spare me your drama about how neither of you understands each other," Hermione had whispered. "Spare me your argument that your father loved one of you more than the other. Embrace the time you have. Be the brothers you were _blessed_ to be without the need of blood to make it seem obligatory. Treasure what you have, instead of what you have lost." The rest of Hermione's tirade was lost in her tears as she had leaned down, picked up Mjölnir from the ruins of part of her garden wall where Thor had thrown it at Loki and had stormed off into the forest. There had been the sound of a crack, and both Thor and Loki were left alone as it rained giant, fist-sized gum-balls.

Looking back, Loki realised that had been the end—the end to the violent disagreements, at least. They still bickered, bantered, and had disgruntled rows, but they were not garden destroying, civilisation threatening, or, as his mother put it, bad role-model material. It had started with Thor pulling himself out of the chasm that had tried to swallow him up and reaching out a hand to Loki to pull him out of the spontaneous bog that had tried to devour him.

He had, strangely enough, completely forgotten that Hermione had been so angry at the two of them that she had snatched up Thor's hammer like it was one of the toys the twins had been fighting over. Like a well-practised mother, she took "what was causing the most damage" and left the two "children" to work together to get themselves out of the hole they had dug themselves into. And like the two repentant children she accused them of being, they had taken turns in the shower, did the laundry, watched the children run around collecting the rain of gum-balls, repaired the garden, replanted a few of the toppled trees, made dinner, fed the twins, and collapsed on the couch together in exhaustion as the twins slept in their laps.

-o-o-o-o-

The sound of the door caused Loki to open his eyes as he lay sprawled on the couch with his brother and the twins. The twins were draped over Thor like cats, drooling profusely on his lap as Thor lay back against the couch like he had a hard night of partying and booze. Hermione was at the sink, moving the dishes from the drying rack to the cabinets with a combination of her hands and magic, depending on where the shelf was.

Loki, approached quietly, grabbing a teacup as it went floating by and placed it on the top shelf. Silently, he helped her put all of the dinner settings away. Her magic was reaching out to him even when her demeanour was withdrawn. His magic responded to hers automatically as it always did. They were drawn together like opposing polar fields, and even when they had their disagreements, the pull was always there. It suggested, demanded, pleaded to allow the reunification. The longer they were apart, the ruder their magic became about being separated.

He brushed his hand along the back of her neck, brushing her hair away from her back. "Walk with me?" he asked softly.

Hermione nodded, following him outside as the twins snored on with Thor.

They walked the mountain path together. Loki covered her hand in his, entwining his fingers with hers as they walked. The tingle of the magic shuddered between them, bringing a sense of calm no words or actions could match.

"I'm sorry I yelled at you," Hermione said as she stared skyward. "I'm such an idiot."

Loki brushed his hand against her cheek. "It wasn't you destroying our garden and knocking over trees, my Lady."

"Now, I'm in for it," Hermione chuckled. "Calling me 'my Lady'."

Loki smiled at her in the moonlight, his eyes flickering. "Gods we may be, but we are just longer lived in our mistakes. Perhaps, we were due for a chewing out."

Hermione let out her breath and smiled. "I miss my old friends sometimes. Usually, I can stomach it well enough. But watching you two fight, I just—"

Loki stroked her hair, pulling her to his chest and tucking her under his chin. "It must be hard for you having grown up thinking your life was short and then realising everyone around you ages while you alone do not."

"I feel I cannot make friends because, by the time I trust them enough to call them friend, I am standing at their funeral," Hermione murmured into his chest.

"Perhaps you should take up Dr Strange's invite for tea and conversation," Loki suggested. "I have a feeling you would have much to converse over.

"Isn't he," Hermione said with a tilt of her head, "the 'Sorcerer Supreme'?"

"And neurosurgeon," Loki said with a shrug.

"How is it I never heard of him before meeting you?" Hermione asked.

"I'm sure he's never met someone like you, either," Loki admitted with a chuckle.

"I'm not all that spectacular," Hermione said, "especially in comparison to gods and people who combat armies in battle armour suits, control the weather, have exceptional combat skill—"

Loki snorted, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "My Lady, you sell yourself short. Is it not you who transformed yourself into a dolphin to save a drowning child? Turned yourself into a polar bear to sniff out a skier trapped under an avalanche? Averted a tsunami to protect a coastal island village whose population was so small that if they had lost ten people it would have been half their residents?"

Hermione looked dubious and unsure.

"Is it not you who stormed up to that mutant with the," Loki said as he made a gesture of claws over his right eye, "scar, and told them if he didn't stop destroying one of the last natural centaur habitats that you would, how did you put it, 'turn you to granite and cast you into the Challenger Deep of the Pacific so far down that the Earth itself will swallow you up and scatter your atoms with the eruption of the next super volcano'?"

Hermione flushed and burrowed her head into his shoulder. "I was having a bad day."

"Were you having a 'bad day' the time you stood up to Amora the Enchantress of Ásgarðr and promised that if she ever touched anything that was yours again that you would drain her magical core so thoroughly that every child she ever had and all children of her line would be born a … squid?" Loki asked.

"Squib," Hermione corrected, blushing thoroughly.

Loki raised an eyebrow as if to say the vocabulary was not important.

Hermione flushed with embarrassment.

Loki tilted her face up to look at him, a smile on his lips. "You are so very attractive when you are defending someone," he purred. "Especially when that someone is me." His mouth covered hers in a smooth movement.

Hermione mumbled something into his mouth through his kiss.

"Hrm?" Loki asked. "What's that?" His breath tickled her neck as he pressed a trail of kisses down her neckline.

Hermione murmured something in a language he had no idea she was paying attention to the day he had tried to teach her.

"Oh, you wish me to stop?" Loki said slyly, pulling away.

Hermione grasped Loki by the collar and pulled him down into the grassy hillside with could only be described as a draconic growl.

Sometime in the near future, a radio sitting on a counter at a small convenience store in Russia announced, "Siberia is convinced the end of the world is nigh thanks to the latest rainfall. This was no normal rainfall that had the residents in an uproar, no. It's been raining citrus fruit for hours from Ekaterinburg all the way to Jakutsk. The area that is normally lucky enough to go above −5 °C is definitely not used to anything but snow falling from the skies, and the sudden fall of grapefruit, tangerines, lemons, oranges, clementines, Amanatsu, Cam sánh, Citron, limes, and everything in between has given the small towns in the area an unexpected snowfall in form of exotic fruit. The record-breaking economy has blessed Siberia, and for the first time in the history of the region, the townsfolk are considering having a limeade festival to celebrate the boosted economy. People interviewed seem to think that either the world is ending or has finally given them a much-needed break."

-o-o-o-o-o-

Loki grinned as he remembered the fond memory of the aftermath of his row with Thor. It had started bad, but it had ended well. He hadn't complained afterwards, and his mate didn't seem to want to shun him after his performance, so everything worked out well in his book.

If anything, the memory of his true mate stirred the part inside him that wanted to oust the interloper wearing his mate's body and shared his mate's voice. One step at a time, however, as Joanne's interrogation had only told him that she had been taken deep underground to a place she did not recognise. When asked to identify the person she was with, however, Joanne only described Hermione—specifically two Hermione's. Any other attempt at recollection had caused Joanne to babble incoherently about the serpent and the stone and entrails.

Loki paused. Serpent, stone, and entrails? Would it be so easy? Or rather, would it be so obvious? Easy was relative. To travel to the place he was imprisoned would require the use of the older gods' transport system scattered around the world using gateway points. Each was a node connected to a network not so unlike Hermione's talk of the "Floo Network." It was the fastest way to travel to places that had no easy road to get there—places like the sacred caverns they had bound him during his little hiatus from being a favoured Prince of Ásgarðr. What vexed him the most was that he would not be able to just go there and rescue her because, while he had spent countless years incarcerated there, he had not been conscious when taken there or dragged out by Fenrisúlfr's teeth.

He recalled, vaguely, that the old transportation network spanned the entire world and mirrored many of the ancient ley lines that crisscrossed the world. The ancient energy flows provided a great source of energy and a roadmap to the more magically powerful places. There had been a time when magic had been far more prominent than the use of sorts, but that had also been a time when the transportation points were used regularly. Now, few of the gods, save a few notables, walked the surface of Miðgarðr regularly. Fewer still would remember the places or how to use them.

He would have to find one of the old places of power to tap into the transport system, and he could gain no help from Heimdall and his almost all-seeing eyes due to the sacred space of the oldest places. Such sacred places to the gods were unseeable to Heimdall as long as their ground remained so. Spilling blood on the most sacred of places unto the gods was not something Loki wanted on his list of crimes against the Ásgarðr.

He needed a plan. First, he needed key people like Thor to witness "Hermione" acting strangely so they had a reason to petition for Heimdall to keep his all-seeing eyes on the sacred places. If all went well, if something did happen, any blood spilt would attract his attention. The rest of the gods would know shortly after, namely Odin, whose regard for the older, sacred places was unquestionably high. Second, he needed an excuse to be near the old gateways. Perhaps, a "vacation" was in order. Frigga would be more than happy to tag along to watch the twins in case something called him away. Add Thor for a little extra spice. Blend on high for a few seconds, and things would get interesting fast. As long as the children were kept from anything too drastic, he knew Hermione wouldn't mind the twins learning their lessons in the school of real life. She was terribly practical in regards to her children—as practical in the teaching of her kids as she was merciless in their defence.

Loki steepled his fingers in front of his face. "Brother, why don't you go set your hammer down for a spell and play with the twins? Perhaps you should leave it on the kitchen table."

Thor furrowed his brows a moment and then nodded, turning on his heels and heading inside the house.

Loki let a smug smile spread across his face. He still remembered how to sow chaos by himself, even if he did prefer the far more recreational ways of doing it.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Frigga smiled as Friðr and George clung to Hermione as she attempted to hang the laundry by hand. Thor had mentioned that something was odd with Hermione, and he had tried to explain it to her, but Frigga knew that she had do a little research of her own.

She noted that every time the twins clung to their mother, their magic would flare. It was a typical greeting for those who understood magic. Her magic had replied to Loki since she had begun to teach him so very long ago. It was not as strong as the reaction Hermione's had with Loki's; this she knew easily. When Hermione touched Loki or vice versa, their magic swirled together like opposing tides, blending like the water of a whirlpool.

Frigga, however, was noticing clues that this woman who looked like Hermione and spoke with Hermione's voice was not who she appeared to be. When the twin's clung to their mother, their magic would flare, seeking hers out in instinctive greeting. It was the "hunger" as Loki called it. Magic sought its kindred, and the children's magic sought the embrace of their mother's magic as their bodies sought their mother's warm embrace. Each time it happened, the children's "hunger" would steal a little more of their mother's energy as if to pout that it was not what they were looking for. They didn't do it on purpose, she knew, but if their magic had been as strong as their father's, "Hermione" would be suffering from more than just fatigue and a headache.

Frigga's magic, even though not as familiar to Hermione as Loki or his children's, also reached out to Hermione in greeting. Her magic swirled outward to seek her, greet her, and recognise her, but unlike so many times before, Hermione seemed to gain nothing but a headache. Frigga, on the other hand, felt a strange sense of loss and emptiness.

The magical greeting was not detrimental to everyone, Frigga knew, otherwise every interaction with non-magic users would have been tumultuous indeed. The reason her magic sought out Hermione was because something about her had the familiar signature of energy that triggered the instinctual exchange. Once triggered, magic had a mind of its own.

Every time Friðr or George clung to their mother, she would grow weary quickly and shoo them off of her rather than play with them. Even more strange, she never saw Hermione cast magic, not even for the small things that were utterly trivial such as chilling a glass of lemonade before handing it to the children or hanging the laundry up in the yard by hand instead of by magic. Hermione and Loki had taken to shape-shifting to tell stories, taking turns acting out as characters in the story. This Hermione did not. She told stories like the elder Æsir bards such as Bragi.

Frigga narrowed her eyes. Perhaps it was time for one grandmother to send her almost-daughter-in-law on some easy quests of magical victory—tasks that were utterly easy for someone versed in magic.

"Hermione, my dear," Frigga called from the shade. "Come, sit with me."

Hermione came up to her, huffing as she made her way up the hill. "Of course, Lady Frigga," she replied as she sit down beside her.

Frigga stifled a smirk. Hermione had never been one to be comfortable with calling Frigga by her honorific. Frigga had told her she could call her by her name or the same thing Loki used, and Hermione chose to follow by Loki's example and call her mother. It had healed something within the witch, Frigga knew, as it healed something within her as well.

"The twins have their birthday coming up soon," Frigga said. "I bought you the lumber, paint, and nails you requested. Are you planning on making them the clubhouse they want so much?"

"Of course, Lady Frigga," Hermione answered with a shudder that Frigga did not miss.

"Such a kind mother, Hermione," Frigga said with approval. "I'll be sure to keep the children out of your hair as you put it together."

"You are most Gracious, Lady Frigga," Hermione said, her voice filled with artificial sweetness.

"Not a problem at all, child," Frigga responded, a twitch of her lips leaving no doubt as to where Loki had learned the expression so many moons previous.

Frigga had enjoyed watching the next few weeks of "Hermione" attempting to build a clubhouse with nothing but manual hand tools. She had wasted countless boards by measuring them improperly and wasted many nails by being unable to pound them in straight to save her life. The twins were so excited that it took much restraint on Frigga's part not to assist.

"I'm so impressed, Hermione," Frigga cooed as she brought her a lemonade. "You insist on doing all of the construction without magic? That is so much more meaningful to your children. You are so considerate."

Hermione, covered in paint, sawdust, and sweat, simply drank the lemonade as though it were the last beverage on earth, and continued her work.

When the twins descended upon the completed clubhouse, Frigga gave Hermione a day to nurse her blisters and sore muscles before sending her off to "catch that wild pony roaming the steppes" a challenge for her children to tame and learn to ride as well as learn responsibility.

The pony, which would have been easy for a shapeshifter or magic-user to catch, evaded her for weeks. Frigga enjoyed watching her grandchildren play in the new clubhouse as she lounged in the shade. Finally, when both pony and woman seemed to be tired of running and chasing each other, Hermione came home with one exhausted steppe pony. The woman refused to come out of the bath for the next week, proclaiming the dirt refused to come out.

"Mother," Loki asked as he sat on the garden wall. "Whatever are doing to my mate?"

"I'm doing nothing to your mate, my son," Frigga said knowingly, "as you well know."

Loki's grin was wide as he hopped off the garden wall and whistled a tune as he walked over to his children and twirled them around. He chased them around the garden as hell-hound, a greyhound, and a dachshund for the next few hours until they were so tired all he had to do was tuck them into bed.

Frigga's last task involved a beautiful swimming pool, or at least, that was the idea. Frigga allowed Hermione to accept help from Loki, Thor, and the twins in the digging of the pool and the pouring of the best quality cement of Ásgarðr; however, the design and laying of the artistic tile was not something she trusted "to crude male minds." 'Hermione,' who had perhaps thought she had gotten away with doing at least one task with help all the way through, sat with tile grout and thousands of small, scale-like tiles in an attempt to paint an epic battle of Ásgarðr using only tiles, grout, trowels, tile cutters, and straight-edge.

Frigga, being the helpful sort, provided Hermione a mosaic map to follow. It was partially in helpfulness, part torture due to the difficulty of the pattern, and part was not wishing to stare at something less than beautiful once or if the work managed to be done.

"Mother," Loki purred as he sat down next to her on a particularly hot evening. "People seem to think my aptness to torture came from my giant parentage."

"Oh?" Frigga replied casually. "Hrm."

Loki took his finger and traced it down across his mother's circlet crown. "I think they didn't look close enough to home," he said, his eyes shifting red from blue.

"Why, my son," Frigga said, clinking her tea glass to his. "I have no idea what you mean."

Loki's smile spread across his face. "I'm on to you, mother," he said sweetly.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Sigyn was suffering. It wasn't the kind of suffering that involved being chained up and having a serpent drop venom into your eyes or anything, but it was suffering none the less. Her "children" were a menace, and everything she did to get them out of her hair only made them even more insufferable when they returned victoriously.

The tasks that Frigga had set her on to gift "her children" were monstrous projects that sapped the life out of her. That latest and greatest of those tasks had her setting the mosaic of a large pool with teeny, tiny porcelain tiles. Frigga seemed satisfied for the moment, and Sigyn was grateful for the reprieve. The last thing she wanted was Frigga thinking she was insubordinate or less loving to her children. To make matters worse, she had to do it all by hand without servants or magic. Magic, of course, wasn't her thing, but without "the help," the projects were insanely horrible.

Her children with Loki had never been a problem. They had taken after her rather than their giant, trickster father. Her children had never had the blue skin or unnatural red eyes that graced their father's contribution to the gene pool. Her children had never pranked her constantly and run off giggling into the night as their flour-covered mother stumbled around the kitchen and tripped over a thousand small candy-coated chocolate candies.

To top off the list of offences, they complained when she mixed up their faces when they looked exactly the same. They cried as if their mother didn't love them anymore, and then ran off to whimper to Loki or their uncle Thor as if the buffoon of a brother could offer better comfort than an experienced mother. It was offensive. It was beyond annoying. She was a Goddess, and these freakish hybrid children were walking all over like she was the hired help. To make matters worse, every time the children latched onto her, they were like energy leeches. Her head would pound, her energy would disappear, and her temper would flare.

She had tried to take them on a nice little picnic in the wilderness so that her contacts could abduct the little blighters off to be studied. The twins had not only happily hopped into the helicopter with the combat unit; they had jumped into their arms to enjoy the "exciting mission." Before Sigyn could walk all the way back home and pretend she had "lost her beloved children," her children had apparently tricked and pranked the commando team to such an extent that a grudging respect had formed between them. After that, it was only a matter of time that they charmed the pants off of each man in the combat unit, invited them to afternoon tea, and were having tea and crumpets on the front lawn under a newly acquired army issue tent. The combat unit had stayed until Loki returned home, and the commander had shaken Loki's hand and told him he had a "fine pair of children" right before apologising to Loki for thinking he was vengeful, angry, god with no redeeming values.

Loki had taken the man's hand with a raised eyebrow and had provided dinner for his unexpected combat battalion of guests. To make matters worse, Loki had been on his best behaviour and didn't pick a fight with any of the people who had tried to kidnap his sons thanks to both Friðr and George having a great old time riding around on each of the soldier's shoulders and learning terms such as air picket, chicken plates, klicks, rotorhead, soup sandwich, voice in the sky, zone of action, pickets, shield wall, sapping, sortie, and hundreds more. Sigyn had found herself cleaning dishes for over twenty unexpected guests while the commander of the unit discussed various ways to protect and defend the house from assault in case the house were to come under siege, completing defeating the entire plan of having Friðr and George taken away to piss Loki off. What she had wanted was the incident to set him back into the demeanour that had him remembering he was a God instead playing house with some mortal wench that he had rutted with in a flight of fancy. So far, nothing she did was actually causing him to get sufficiently pissed off at Miðgarðr.

After that failure, Sigyn had tipped off a radical and violent group of mutants where the house was and implied that capturing the kids would surely be a great bargaining chip but the uncounted amount of traps that the combat unit had helped teach Friðr and George had taken quite a few of them before they could even approach the garden. The rest had literally been blown into kingdom come by the arrival of Dr Strange and a handful of his fellow sorcerers that had come for a pre-scheduled appointment for tea. By the time the Sorcerer Supreme and his friends had joined Loki and Thor with blowing the garden to hell to protect the twins, it was night-time, and Loki, being the ever so accommodating host, invited Strange and his cohorts to stay in thanks for helping defend his children.

Friðr and George, of course, were ecstatic that "Uncle Stephen" was staying for the entire weekend. The sorcerer seemed perfectly happy to spend time with the twins and teach them small bits of magic to assist them in cleaning up the yard so "their mother wouldn't have to rain chaos down from the skies." Sigyd hadn't been sure what that meant, but she had assumed he was worried she was going to lose her cool over her destroyed garden. She had assured him that "as long as her children were safe, she would be fine."

A few days later, a perfect garden replaced the craters that had adorned it only a couple days previous, and Thor returned with word that all of the ones responsible for the attack had been "dealt with." The annoying Sorcerer Supreme put up a few new "wards" and "protective spells" on the property to ensure nothing like that happened again, which put an end to Sigyn's plan to bring trouble to Loki in the form of attacks on his home.

What was even more aggravating was trying to answer all of Strange's conversation and that of his companions without sounding completely ignorant of sorcery. She dropped a few keywords here and there that seemed to appease him. He did not attempt to share any of her magic after she had explained she was very tired after the incident with her children. Dr Strange nodded to her and continued to entertain and educate the twins with his annoyingly endless patience to their pranks and incessant questions.

When Strange and his companions finally decided to leave, Sigyn sighed with relief when Loki escorted them out. The children clung to the Sorcerer Supreme's legs, begging him to stay longer as he half-walked and half-dragged the twins with him as he accompanied Loki.

When Sigyn finished cleaning up the tables, she pampered herself with a long bath and dressed for bed. She was exhausted. She needed to find a way to accelerate her plan, so she could get back to the business of being a Goddess instead of the mortal mistress of the century.

Sigyn snuggled into the pillow and was asleep within seconds, oblivious to the pair of glowing crimson eyes watching her from the darkness of the bedroom's doorway.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-

"You are right, Loki," Dr Strange said as he watched Friðr and George playing magic tag with his companions. "Whoever that is in your house is not Hermione."

Loki's blue eyes were stormy as he nodded in acceptance. "Thank you for protecting the children."

"It was nothing," the sorcerer said with a smile.

"What tipped you off?" Loki asked curiously.

Stephen chuckled. "First? She makes horrible tea."

Loki laughed. "Hermione would consider that a very Muggle reason."

The sorcerer chuckled a reply. "Second is that her magical signature is like an echo. It is there, perhaps by some elder magic or by some artefact, but it is not a living signature."

"Her magic does not greet me," Loki said. "That was the first thing I noticed."

Strange nodded. He tapped his finger to the amulet around his neck. "Third, the Eye tells me it is not Hermione. Hermione is Magic taken form. It is very… distinctive when viewed through the Eye."

"What do you see," Loki asked, "when you look through the Eye?"

Stephen pulled out a piece of paper from his robes and cast his hand over it. A pencil sketch formed under his fingers as though he was drawing it very quickly. He handed it to Loki. "This, is what I see."

Loki's eyes widened, and his brows furrowed.

"You recognise her?" Strange asked, taking the paper back from him.

Loki's eyes had shifted into crimson. "My wife," Loki said coldly. "Soon to be ex."

"I sense a story behind this one," the sorcerer said, eyebrow arching into his hair.

"It's a good one," Loki said with narrowed eyes. "We might require more tea."

Stephen had a dubious expression on his face.

"Do not worry," Loki assured him. "Hermione taught me how to brew _proper_ tea."

"Well then, do tell," Strange said, twirling his hand with a formal "go forth" gesture. His eyes softened as the twins allowed his companions to correct their posture and focus them for what he had come to call 'spell-casting games.' Children were always more open to learning magic, and if, as in the twin's case, you knew their potential was more than just openness, vast quantities of lessons could be taught long before bad habits set in. It could all be done like a game while learning was fun and the mind was a sponge, rather than how he had be broken to be rebuilt.

The Ancient One would have enjoyed knowing the twins, he knew, and a part of him truly missed his old mentor. He would have enjoyed Hermione as well, he reckoned. If this 'wife' from Loki's past had sealed Hermione away somewhere, it would explain why he could not trace her magical signature. It was either that or Hermione's signature had evolved beyond the familiar. Either way, it would make his normal ways of finding her impossibly vast.

"Forgive me, but when I think of gods, I do not tend to think of them in terms of marriage," Strange said. "Odd, perhaps, as many of our human myths do like to say that Zeus and Hera were husband and wife or even Odin and Frigg. Oddly, however, it was often oddly coupled with Zeus running off to bed a hundred beautiful mortals and Hera getting revenge. In our myths, Odin was a half giant, and Thor was the product of a coupling between himself and Fjörgyn."

Loki's mouth twitched in amusement. "Hermione mentioned that in a letter to me. Told me that the next time Thor implied my behaviour was due to my giant parentage, I should bring up that his is apparently no better."

Stephen snorted in a half chuckle. "Most stories of legend have varying amounts of truth," he replied. "Tell me then, what is the truth in yours?"

Loki's smile was cruel as he began his tale.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Loki had decided it was time for a nice vacation with the wife and kids. Sure the kids were not the actual children of said wife. Sure his wife had no idea that he knew exactly who she really was, but that wasn't stopping him from making the best of the twisted situation. It was only the knowledge that Hermione didn't truly need to eat and drink that kept him from worrying that she was starving to death somewhere.

He was concerned, undoubtedly, but he had a very good idea where his mate was being held: in a cave outside of time and outside of the sight of Heimdall. His magic was hungering for the touch of Hermione's complement to his magic. His children seemed to have it to. It wasn't as strong as his, but he could tell that the twins were becoming more cranky and hard to deal with. They craved the touch of their true mother and the purity of her magic, and no embrace, no matter how loving, could make up for the lack.

The twins' crankiness was actually working in his favour. The crankier they became, the more they fussed on their "mother" and the more unstable the woman became in her desperation to be free of them. Every day that passed, she committed more and more errors of character, showing her true personality under the façade of his mate's body and voice.

When her emotions became overwhelming, hints of her true voice would peak through, unknown to her, and that was when Loki truly savoured her torment. Loki had never wished to be married, and being forced into marriage had never been his plan. He had accepted her hand, under duress, and provided a home and laid with her to provide the obligatory children that proved he was not sterile. All of this had been before the truth about his true parentage had come out, and Loki had a good idea from the horror in his wife's eyes when he shifted forms that had she known the truth back in the day, she may have divorced him through one of the many loopholes in their marriage contract.

Then again, he pondered, Sigyn had always wanted the best for her children. She wanted them to savour their status and all that their sire had provided, even if it was not emotional attachment. While their marriage was not a mutual affection, she did, at the very least adore her children. And thanks to a random mix of genetics, her children with Loki took after her in more ways than one. They had preferred weapons of the physical over that of the mind and magic. They had not a lick of talent in magic, and they remained blissfully pale and blond and intolerant to cold like their mother.

It was, perhaps, a pity that his children with her did not survive his incarceration. The Æsir had tried to torture him with the idea he was being bound with the guts of his son, but he held more anger then than he could ever hold affection. He cared not whose guts bound him to the rocks below. All he had cared for then was revenge and Ragnarök.

Hermione had changed that, however. In Hermione, he had met his match and counter-balance to an emptiness he hadn't realised was there. She had been succour for a man without food or water. She had been accepting when no giant, man, or God could give it. His magic had always known, from the moment it reached out to her and she had responded to its touch like a cat arching its back to the hand of a caress. She had asked of him only companionship—company on a mutual journey.

He had, of course, repudiated her in favour of his war with Thor and the Æsir. His magic had cried out in agony after what had been his greatest and most short-sighted mistake. That separation had been more damaging to him than the death of hundred sons with Sigyn could done. He had spent countless years in atonement for that one crime, but unlike forced repentance, he did so gladly. He had learned what truly mattered to him. From the moment they had coupled for the first time, they had been bound, sins forgiven and lives entwined. He would hunger for her until the end of all things, and she would forever be the answer to every question that mattered to him.

It was Hermione that tempered his rage into this strange lingering patience. He was biding his time until the perfect moment. He would settle for nothing else. The magic within him, however, was growing far more impatient than the rest of him. Every so often a black tendril of chaotic energy would lash out from his body, randomly knocking something over, tripping some elderly person trying to cross the street, or rescue some child from an oncoming vehicle. The results were random, but the meaning was the same. His magic craved its counterpart just as he craved her touch.

With the twins now lovingly cradled next to his mother and Thor as they lay in the shade of the beach-umbrella, he knew that they would be safe in the case his wife made a break for where she was hiding Hermione. Heimdall was informed, Thor swore he would protect the children with his life, and even All-Father said he would not see harm to his grandchildren. That had given Loki pause, as Odin had never shown any favouritism towards his children with Sigyn in any way, shape, or form. He had conveniently located his latest vacation near one of the old travel-ways. Now, all Loki needed was Sigyn to finally "have enough" and make a run for Hermione.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-

"Why are you here, wolf?" a soft voice hissed in the darkness.

Fenrisúlfr lifted his head, his lips pulling back from his teeth. He stood over Hermione with stiffened legs, hackles raised, and ears pinned back.

"No need for that," the voice said. A dark serpent uncoiled as it slithered out over the ancient root that hovered overhead. "No words? Are you not the great Fenrisúlfr who boasted no chain could ever hold you?"

The giant wolf snarled, foam dripping from his mouth.

"No insult. No insult," the serpent hissed lowly, "simply a confirmation of identity." The snake exposed his fangs; venom dripped from his fangs and onto the ground. Smoke rose from the ground where it had landed. There was only one snake whose venom was as caustic as it was venomous: Skaði's serpent, whom she had bound to drip his venom over Loki until Ragnarök.

"Why are you here, wolf?" the serpent questioned. The snake unfurled from the branch a little, allowing his head to come closer and see what Fenrisúlfr was standing over. "Am I to tend yet another charge?"

The world wolf growled lowly, exposing his teeth.

"Ah, that's a no, then," the snake answered himself, his golden eyes glowed in the darkness. "Tell me then, silent one, what crime is this one guilty of that the Gods would bring one more here to be cast aside and forgotten?"

Fenrisúlfr growled, his body moved over Hermione's still form protectively. The chains that were once the intestines of a God lay torn to pieces by Fenrisúlfr's teeth, freeing Hermione from some of the multiple stones that held her in place. The ribbon-like chain that bound Hermione's arms behind her and to one of the stones were untouched.

"Gleipnir," the serpent hissed. "I see." The snake moved around the root he was anchored on and seemed to be pondering something. "I shall offer you a deal, wolf," the snake said after a time. "I too, have been abandoned. My duty done; the agreement reneged… I would help you if only to see the sun again."

The serpent hung from the root above him, venom dripping from his fangs.

The wolf narrowed his eyes and nuzzled into Hermione's neck, laying half on top of her.

"We serpents hear a great many things," the serpent hissed, "and we know a great many more things about knots."

Fenrisúlfr eyed the hanging serpent, curling his lip slightly in a snarl. He stared at the golden-eyed serpent distrustfully. Distrust was his speciality. Hermione had earned his trust; the serpent had not. He licked Hermione's head and neck, his teeth and tongue working on grooming her hair as he would an unruly cub. If Hermione was awake, she could decide if the snake was to be trusted. As his tongue ran along the skin of her neck, small iridescent scales shimmered and emerged from her skin as a small ripple of magic crackled over the magical scales. The scales moved, as though a serpent was moving across her neck.

The serpent hanging from the root above pulled back his head, tongue flicking rapidly in and out of his mouth.

"Lady Ouroboros," the snake hissed softly. "No wonder they wish to bury you deep."

-o-o-o-o-o-o-

"Do you have any idea where we are, Severus?" Hermione asked.

Blackness had been overcome with haze, and haze had been replaced by mist. The mist wavered in and out, obscuring and revealing randomly.

Severus cawed deeply, fluffing his feathers out so he looked like a puffball and then smoothing then back down.

 _No idea,_ came Severus' thought to her.

Hermione leant her head closer to the bird, and he snuggled up to her hair, running his beak against her ear affectionately. They had travelled in and out of the mist many times already, passing in and out of places they had both seen and never seen before.

The bond between herself and Severus and Ouroboros was getting stronger with each passing minute. The longer the raven's warmth snuggled against her shoulder, the easier it was to hear his thoughts. At first it had been spotty and unexpected, but as they passed through the mists together, whatever link had bound them together due to the Trial and Gauntlet had grown ever stronger. Both Severus and Ouroborus were connected to her, offering warmth and companionship in a way she that was much like the feel of Loki's presence woven in her magic and her mind. It was a slightly different feel. Loki was her balance. Severus and Ouroboros felt like extensions of herself. The bonds were intimate and comforting, but there was no doubt that Loki was her mate. Having the bond between Severus and Ouroboros did not seem to cheapen the one she had with Loki. If anything, she felt that it strengthened the whole even more, if only she could be reunited with Loki again.

She hadn't expected Severus to sacrifice his freedom in the afterlife and choose to accompany her throughout whatever became of her life, nor had she realised that Ouroboros has made his choice from the moment she had found him as a Curse-Breaker. She had thought the sculpture had been a well crafted and fickle artefact, and she wasn't sure how to adjust to the fact that he was so much more than that. The Goblins had to have known, she mused to herself. Why else would they have given her the moniker "the Lady Ouroboros?"

Severus had seemed content with his choice. His mind voice had been more content than she had ever remembered him. His presence had settled upon her like a warm quilt on a cold winter day. The sound of his voice had reminded her of countless evenings discussing potion theory and errant students. At first, Hermione had wanted to balk at the entire situation, seeing it akin to forced slavery, but Severus had pecked her squarely on the head like a rapped knuckle to her temple, and Ouroboros had bitten her soundly on the ear. The serpent's venom had tingled as it spread throughout her body with the pleasure of hot cocoa on a freezing subzero day. Hermione had acquiesced to their choices after a few more journeys in and out of the mists and finally gave in completely when Severus admonished her to stop treating them like some stupid house-elf that needed rescuing.

Ouroboros was content to curl around her neck like a choker, leaving a warmth of his body against her skin. His tongue would flick in and out occasionally, tickling her ear or her chin depending on which way his face was pointed. Hermione did not miss the irony that the old Gryffindor witch had been chosen by a snake and a wizard of the House of Slytherin. He would offer observations here or there, but, for the most part, he was like a living badge of the station that was as obvious to those in the know as the accoutrement gained by her Trial.

She would pass through villages, some human some most definitely not, and all that saw her either bowed the moment they saw what she was wearing or the moment they saw Ouroboros and Severus. The part of Hermione Granger that was simply a "witch that was hard to kill" was struggling to adjust to the change that had somehow happened without her permission.

It wasn't until she passed into a forest that made creepy seem like a word used by kindergartners to describe the monster in the closet, that she realised something significant was still happening to her as she travelled.

They found themselves surrounded by slavering creatures that seemed both feline and canine and distinctly other. Tendrils of dark energy writhed around them like sentient tentacles. Leathery wings folded against their bodies.

"Let usss be your eyes and ears," one whispered.

"Let usss be your rage," another said.

"Take usss as yours, that we might serve again," they whispered in the mist.

"Ssssshare in your victories, victories," they whispered, their words repeating, overlapping, and merging together.

"Share, ssssshare in you pain," they said.

Hermione was frozen in place as they paced around her, swirling and writhing like the movement of serpents in the dark.

"Let us be your comfort when the light abandons you, abandons you," they whispered.

"Eyes in the dark."

"Eyes in the light."

"Ever watchful."

"Ever vigilant."

"Ears always."

"Hears always."

"Serve always."

Hermione Granger, human witch, was unnerved.

Hermione Granger, mate to Loki, was impressed. Both Severus and Ouroboros seemed to think that more allies were not a bad idea. These creatures, she had no doubt, were powerful. They were powerful on their own, and more so in groups. Their names had long been forgotten. They were old when the first aliens huddled by the fires in caves and prayed that evil would not visit them. They were ancient when the first humans had huddled by their fires in caves and prayed that they were safe from evil.

Somehow she knew that the god had originally offered them purpose had changed beliefs, and in so doing broke his ties to these primordial creatures. Whatever god that had been had been lost to obscurity, but the creatures remained. They remained, abandoned and purposeless.

Hermione Granger, the witch, did not believe she was a god. Why would such creatures listen to her?

"Bound to you. To you."

"In the blood. In the blood."

"Mark of Death."

"Mark of the Trial."

"Mark of the Gauntlet."

"Worthy."

"Yes. Worthy."

"Serve."

Hermione had to admit something had changed inside her, despite how much her old self wanted to cling to her witch identity like a shield. Part of her knew exactly what they wanted in exchange for their servitude. She knew they would serve eternal, loyalty without reproach. They had been abandoned by their God, so in return for their loyalty, they wanted the only kind of promise they understood.

"This is going to hurt," Hermione said softly.

She felt Ouroboros sink into her skin as Severus faded into her body with a strange warmth.

Hermione closed her eyes, allowing her armour to fade and opened her arms as the wave of fangs, claws, and darkness fell upon her like a tide.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Loki followed Sigyn's frantic scampering down the ancient underground corridors. The Goddess was so focused on her descent into the bowels of the Earth that she did not notice Loki running his finger along the side of the walls, leaving a glowing marker of his path as he followed her.

He walked calmly, relishing the scent of Sigyn's panic. His lips turned up into a smile as he saw the large footprints of Fenrisúlfr in the dirt. The wolf was protecting her. He was such a good son.

Loki wasn't sure what had finally broken Sigyn of her desire to play the farce. Part of him blamed his mother for rattling the cage with her, "Oh, Hermione. You're so much better than any of Loki's previous lovers or that horrible wife he had. Worst mistake I ever made supporting that marriage."

He had to admit that his mother had many ruthless abilities that few gave her credit for. One of them was how to strike someone emotionally right in the gut. She had masterfully done that with her first death. That had hit Loki right between the ribs and went directly for his heart, ignoring the gut altogether.

Whatever psychological warfare he had done combined with his mother's addition, his son's inadvertent help, and a hundred combinations in between. Sigyn was finally convinced that the only way to get what she wanted to was insure that Hermione was out of the picture. Thanks to Hermione's teaching him the glory that was disillusionment, well, it was a red-letter day following his estranged wife to where she was keeping Hermione.

His magic was vibrating, extending down the corridors to join with Hermione's familiar touch. He knew he was close. When the corridor opened into a larger cavern, he recognised Sigyn's choice of places to keep Hermione as the same place he had laid in his torture so many years ago. It seemed like a different life. He had been dragged there half conscious, and he had been dragged out even less conscious by Fenrisúlfr. He couldn't recognise how he got here, but he knew the cavern where he had spent years in chains. The recognition reminded him of a hundred thousand hatreds and curses he had screamed as the venom dripped down on his body.

"You cannot attack me, Fenrisúlfr," Sigyn faced the great wolf who was standing over Hermione, growling and showing his teeth. "I was the one who freed you. By blood and by honour, you cannot oppose me until our debt is settled."

Loki saw the wolf fighting with his impulses. The desire to protect Hermione warred with the life debt Fenrisúlfr had binding him to Sigyn's life. He could not, as much as he desired it, defy the life debt she had invoked.

Loki saw movement above them and saw the slithering on the branch that had hung above him for time uncounted. Dark coils unfurled as the serpent dropped down from the branch, cocked its head back to strike—

Fenrisúlfr leapt with a snarl, knocking Sigyn clear of the serpent's strike. The snakes loud hiss filled the cavern and Sigyn's face twisted as she realised what had just happened: Fenrisúlfr had just saved her life from the serpent, resolving the life debt between them.

The great wolf's lips pulled back from his teeth in an undeniable snarl of hatred.

"Fenrisúlfr," Loki commanded. "Attend Hermione."

The wolf's lips relaxed over his fangs, and he bounded over to where Hermione was immediately.

Loki's eyes flicked from the dagger in Sigyn's hand to her face. "Is there something you wanted to tell me, _Hermione_?" Loki asked.

"Oh, yes," Sigyn said through bared teeth. "Long in coming." She launched at him.

Loki moved out of the way, and Sigyn whirled and slashed out with the dagger, cutting the front of his shirt open. Loki gritted his teeth and threw dirt into her face, stepping out of the way of her lunge.

Sigyn was many things, but she was the master of the dagger. It was the one fighting skill she had beaten Loki at constantly in practice. The most he could do was stay out of the way of her slash and jab just enough to loose a spell here and there to set her off kilter. He tried to lure her away from the main cavern, but Sigyn was on to his plan. She refused to leave the cavern, and every time he tried to lead her out, she went for Hermione.

Fenrisúlfr snarled and attacked, no longer bound by the honour of their life debt. They circled each other, feigning, lunching, and countering. Fenrisúlfr snapped his teeth increasingly close at Sigyn, but she was faster. Fenrisúlfr became tired of missing and lunged at her full on. Sigyn, however, had been ready for it, and her dagger slashed the wolf across the chest with a well timed strike.

Fenrisúlfr yelped, the enchanted weapon of Ásgarðr piercing his normally well-armoured hide. Blood dripped from his chest, and he limped into the darkness to gather his senses and attack strategy. Becoming larger in such cramped quarters was not going to assist him with maneuverability, and now, he was wounded.

Loki entered back into the fight. He entangled her in vines, but she slashed at them with her dagger, chopping them to pieces. He grasped her wrists and grunted, using his strength to crush her tendons. "I cannot let you do this," Loki said through grit teeth.

He looked into "Hermione's" eyes and saw a desperate madness. "Letting a stupid Miðgarðr mortal sway you from your place," she hissed into his face. "What happened to bedding them and leaving them by the wayside like the worthless trash they are?"

"Hermione is not," Loki said as he struggled with her arms, "worthless trash."

"Was she that good in bed?" she hissed at him. "So eager to replace our sons?" She freed her dagger hand, slicing his hand where she ran it across his skin to free herself. She attacked him in a flurry of swings, forcing him backwards as he nursed his bleeding hand. Blood dripped down to the earth in large droplets.

"I do not wish to kill you here," Loki said coldly, glaring at her.

"And I will not have to kill you if you would stop standing in the way!" Sigyn snarled, slashing at him.

Loki divided himself into multiple clones, surrounding her.

"Put down the dagger," he said.

Sigyn spun hastily, making all the Lokis around her leap back to avoid the slash. Her eyes flicked from copy to copy, trying to find the real one.

"Let's talk about this," Loki said.

"Let's not," Sigyn said, slashing through the clones again and again. Suddenly, Sigyn seemed to make a choice, and she lunged towards Loki. She fell through the illusion as the other Loki's swarmed in on her. But Sigyn had predicted it, and she thrust the knife backwards under her shoulder and straight between Loki's ribcage and into his heart with a scream of pure rage.

Loki coughed, staggering, blood trickling down the front of his body as he fingered the dagger stuck between his ribs. He held it with a baffled look on his face as though he couldn't believe it was there. His bloodied fingers clawed at it, pulling it free from his chest and letting it clatter to the ground.

He sank to his knees beside the real Hermione, his eyes looking into her face as he crumpled over her. " _Min älskling (my love)_ ," he whispered. " _Jag älskar dig. Tvivlar du på mig? (I love you. Do you doubt me?)_"

Loki's body shuddered and went still.

Black vapours and blue energy began to rise from Hermione's unconscious body as Sigyn screamed in frustration. Her perfect plan had fallen to pieces by her own hand.

The black vapours swirled around Hermione's body as a low unearthly growl filled the cavern echoed by similar growls. Creatures crafted of shadow and nightmare sprung forth from her body like a doorway and glowered at Sigyn. Their eyes glowed with different colours. Some were red, some were violet, and some were the brightest white. Their fangs dripped with black ichor, but as the fluid fell to the ground, it vanished like smoke.

There was a loud booming caw, as a raven burst up from the swirling darkness, wings pinned as the giant corvid spun in a circle and flung his wings wide to hover in place. The raven hovered in place; wings spread as a circle of almost blinding light formed the shape of a snake biting its tail encircled the raven in a perfectly formed circle. Power gathered in the serpent's circle and blew outward, filling the cavern in blinding blue light that grew so intense that it seemed white.

An invisible force threw hoisted Sigyn up and threw her back against the cavern wall as everything was bathed in searing white power just as a wave of darkness moved in from behind and swallowed everything.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Hermione's eyes opened shortly after Loki fell across her, his blood trickling down over his chest, over her body, and into the ground. Her eyes bled pure blue energy, swallowing the whites of her eyes as she sat up, her teeth gritting together as she yanked her arm once, twice, three times in succession. The tethers that held her fell through her arm as arcing energy replaced where her arm had been and then reformed into skin and bone. She gathered the ribbon binding and the chain, pulling them to her with a low growl.

"Fenrisúlfr," Hermione whispered lowly, energy dancing between her fingertips.

The giant wolf came to her side, lips curled back from its teeth, but he rubbed the side of his head against her hand.

"Hold this for me, if you will," she asked the wolf.

The wolf held still as she loosely coiled the ribbon around his neck, letting it dangle around his neck like a thin collar. Her hand rubbed under his jaw and chin, and the wolf took her hand in his jaws. His teeth clamped onto her hand and released it in a quick and symbolic greeting.

Hermione's hand ran under the wolf's body; her fingers passed over the wound on his chest. The wound knit under her touch, scarring instantly. Then, the scar began to fade and new fur grew in over it.

Hermione flicked her eyes over to her double, her magic rippled up and down her body. "Tell me, _Hermione_ ," Hermione seethed, the newly entwined Magic of her core coiling around her like a serpent wrapping its deadly body around prey. The chaotic energy of her mate wove in and out of her body, integrated so thoroughly with her core that it was no more foreign to her than the magic she had been born with. "How does it feel to be a Goddess trapped within a body that is not yours? How does it feel to wear the form of someone so foreign to you that the Magic which created it writhes inside of you, struggling to be freed, tearing apart your insides like the clawing of an angry cat?"

Hermione placed her hands together; her fingers spread to form a symbol with an interlocking symbol. She flung one hand out with a jerk, clenching her fist together, and Sigyn found herself invisibly bound and arms pinned to her side. Hermione pressed her index and middle finger together and traced energy symbols in the air in a complex drawing, creating a seal with ancient runes of even more ancient Gods. Hermione's eyes blazed in blue fire as she did so, and she flicked her hands out, forming a circle of runes around Sigyn's feet.

The dark creatures around her growled, circling the protective circle that surrounded Sigyn. They snarled but stayed just outside the circle. Hermione reached into the circle with her fingers and fingered the locket that hung from Sigyn's neck.

"Useful trinket of the Elder Gods," Hermione said in a sing-song voice. "From a time when Gods walked the Earth and wished to look undoubtedly mortal and ordinary." She put her fingers under the locket and jerked on it, pulling the locket to her. Her eyes flashed and then she cast her gaze to the locket as though examining its craftsmanship.

The moment the locket left the circle, Sigyn no longer looked like Hermione. She became taller, more beautiful, blond, and draped in the intricate finery of the Ásgarðr.

Sigyn discovered that her invisible bonds had dissipated, and she tried to make use of that ability, but the runes glowed beneath her. She slammed, face first, into an invisible barrier. "What sorcery is this?" she screamed, yelling as her hands pounded on the energy barrier. "I am a Goddess! No mortal can hold me!"

"It is what it is," Hermione said dispassionately. "Sorcery, as you so eloquently describe it. In my youth, my magic was untrained. I didn't know then that magic was different than sorcery. To me, there was only magic. After training, I required a wand to focus my innate talents. As more time passed, there were certain things I could do that did not require a wand to focus my will. Will was enough on its own. Then, when I was barely a hair into adulthood, an extremely proficient Dark wizard created a new Philosopher's Stone… or rather, he created a new way to make one—an unnatural process of the darkest of magics born of murder rather than the purity of the original. Countless deaths of anything with magical essence died for its creation."

"What does this little history lesson have to do with—" Sigyn demanded only to be cut off as Hermione made a zipping motion with her fingers. Sigyn grasped her throat with her hands, clawing at her neck as if to bring her voice back.

"Quiet, now," Hermione said, her voice sounding so much like Loki's. "Your betters are speaking to you."

Hermione leant in closer, the flames that made up her eyes flickered in bright blues that flared into a bright almost-white. "I was thrown into a magic circle, similar to the one you are in right now, trapped and unable to escape. An entire cauldron of Magic, both ancient and Dark, forced itself upon my soul, bonding to my core and burning away everything that made me a 'Child of Miðgarðr' as you put it."

Hermione stroked Fenrisúlfr with her hand absently, her fingers soothing the coarse fur of his neck and shoulders. "I was torn to pieces, and I should have died. Magic, however, had other plans. I was remade. I was… reconstructed. Everything that was Hermione Granger was imprinted upon the new, living, Philosopher's Stone. Some," she said with a pause, "might call it a soul."

Hermione's gaze was piercing. "If you believe in such things."

"I was the first and last of my kind," Hermione said, her voice low like the rumble of elephants. "I was random. Somehow, the very essence and core of what made me who I was reacted just right, and I became the only living testament to what happens when mortals dabble in the ancient and forgotten dealings of Gods. What I had become, however, would not be revealed until one Goddess of Ásgarðr took it upon herself to send me to Death's Domain, thinking, perhaps, if I died here in this forgotten sacred place of the Elder Gods that Loki would remember he was God."

Hermione reached out the serpent that was curled around the giant root above her. She extended her hand, and the serpent began to coil around her arm and slither up her shoulder and across to the other. Hermione's finger ran under the snake's chin, her eyes flickering.

"I suppose, I should thank you," Hermione said, dismissing the circle and gag around Sigyn with a flick of her wrist. "Had I not been forced to endure the Trial and Gauntlet, I would not have fully integrated with the Old and the new." She said the word Old in a manner that seemed to have nothing to do with time and everything to do with age… a strange turn of meaning that was almost heavy with the elusive truth.

"I would not have had access to Loki's memories exactly when I needed them," she speculated. "I would not have suddenly understood all of Dr Strange's lessons is vivid detail. I would not have remembered that this… body… is not my prison."

Hermione reached out one hand and stroked the shadowy creature that near her. It purred softly and rubbed against her hand like a cat. "I would not have realised that allies come in all shapes and sizes—alignments and prices to be paid."

The dark shapes moved around her, fading in and out of sight like menacing mist. The eyes continued to glow, staring at Sigyn without end.

"Who are you?" Sigyn whimpered. She raised her arm as if to fend of a blow.

Hermione glowered down at the Goddess with disdainful eyes. "I am Hermione the Sorceress. I am both Mother and Executioner. Behold, the garments of my Trial and Gauntlet, for they are the trappings gifted by Death whose Mark emblazons my forehead and burns eternally."

Hermione tilted her head to the side and peered at the corvid on her shoulder. "Too over the top?"

The raven on Hermione's shoulder gave a raspy caw, his fathomless black eyes shimmered with intelligence. Hermione stared at him as if caught in a very interesting conversation.

"I'm sure I could think of something better, Severus, but it will have to wait for me to finish ripping apart the one who made my joyous reunion with Loki impossible." Hermione's eyes flicked to where Loki's body lay crumpled on the ground, his blood leaking out over the stones and earth. Blue fire spread through Hermione's eyes once more as tentacles of black chaos whipped out like the arms of a giant octopus. "Is this how a wife shows love to her husband, Sigyn, wife of Loki?"

Fenrisúlfr was at Hermione's side; his lips pulled back from his glistening teeth. Hermione's clawed hand gently stroked between his ears. She gently moved her hand into Fenrisúlfr's open mouth, allowing him to close his jaws around her hand and hold it.

"I bore him sons!" Sigyn argued. "I held the bowl to keep the venom from his body! I was dutiful!

"Yet you left his side," Hermione droned. "You left the bowl and his side."

"To free the wolf that he might free his sire!" Sigyn countered.

Hermione's lips curved into a very cruel Loki smile. "Not for the love of Loki."

"They deserved to pay!" Sigyn yelled. "The people of Ásgarðr killed my children and used their guts to bind my husband until Ragnarök. When the wolf runs free and Loki is freed from his imprisonment, it signals the beginning of Ragnarök! All of those who played a part in my son's deaths will perish."

"According to the prophecy," Hermione said coldly. "That would mean the death of your husband and his other children as well."

Sigyn glowered at her darkly.

"But that never mattered to you, did it?" Hermione surmised. Her eyes flashed with bright blue light. "Your name means 'victorious girlfriend'," she said idly as though flipping through an encyclopaedia. "Tell me, do you feel… victorious?"

Sigyn let out a chain of curses in Old Norse.

Hermione placed her hand to her neck, and the ethereal Ouroboros slithered around her wrist, curving around her fingers with a loose coil. She placed her high boot to Sigyn's chest, leaning over her as she let her arm drop little by little; the phantom serpent coiled back as if priming himself to strike. "Do the Gods fear death?" Hermione asked casually, her finger stroking the phantom serpent over the head. "Do they believe in karma? Do you wish to know when you will die?"

Hermione's expression was blank. Her eyes had gone from the pure blue to a dark, glowing crimson. The air around her began to chill, freezing their breath in great white puffs. Her skin began to turn a dark cobalt blue as dark grooves and ridges spread across her skin. She bared her teeth at Sigyn. "Who do the Gods pray to?" There was murder in Hermione's eyes, basking in the flames of retribution.

Suddenly a hand laid upon Hermione's shoulder, and Hermione turned to see Loki staring down into her eyes. His blue hand stroked her cheek as his crimson eyes glowed in unison with hers. His lips descended upon hers, his kiss crashing into her with the force of a tide. His chaos magic swirled around him in a black cloud of his sphere of influence. Her rippling blue energy wove together with his, and their magic blended together. Hermione's skin returned to a more human colour as her eyes filled with electric blue energy. It leaked out of the corners of her eyes like wisps of flame. Their bodies shimmered as countless tendrils of black and blue energy wove between a cloud of swirling ice crystals as a cocoon of energy formed around them, grew intensely bright, and exploded outward with a roar of magical fire.

Sigyn squinted into the gloom of the cavern as the light faded. Her eyes burned with the shock as her body trembled from the magical backlash that had bowled into her. As her vision returned, Loki and Hermione stood side by side. Loki was draped in his formal armour, the dark green cape whipping behind him as though by the wind. He wore his battle helm, the long golden horns jutting forth from his helm. His deep black hair cascaded down past his shoulders as his face twisted into a malicious smirk.

Beside him was Hermione, dressed in silver where his was gold, a cape as black as Loki's hair fluttered behind her. Elegant silver horns protruded from her hair, curving backwards from above her temples and around again. The serpent curled around her neck, fading into the iridescent scales of her gorget, and the raven on her shoulder cawed a raspy observation.

"Dear Sigyn," Loki purred in a voice that both velvet and venom, "You spilt the blood of a God on the most sacred of places where no other has, even when I was tied to this place. You have christened the ground in the blood of a mortal God trying to murder him, and perhaps, you have succeeded."

Sigyn stared at Loki's blue face without comprehension.

Loki's fingers traced the line of Hermione's chin as his crimson eyes scanned her face intensely, studying each contour in avid detail. "Loki, son of Laufey, died today," Loki said casually. "Today, Loki the God of Chaos and Mischief has been born—reunited eternal with his Fated. Other. Half."

Loki's hand was suddenly around Sigyn's throat, his cobalt fingers clenching into the flesh of her neck. His grip sent paralysis through her body in a wave of bitter cold. His red eyes glowed brightly as tentacles of black energy lashed out from his body, simultaneously causing half the cave to burst into spring grass and flowers and the other half to appear dead as a wasteland.

His grip on her tightened. "Rejoice," he whispered venomously, "for I have remembered I am a God." He released his hand from her throat, his eyes closing briefly before he straightened his posture and stood tall once more. "You are beneath me."

Loki held out his arm, and Hermione's hand wove under his arm and gently lay across his lower arm, her hand alighting on his wrist.

"I stand as your equal as your wife!" Sigyn hissed, gathering her strength as she rubbed her throat. "I am your _true_ wife!"

Loki's lips turned up a smug smile. "Tell me, wife," he said, his voice a low rumble. "Since when have you taken to wearing men's clothes?" His fingers outstretched to trace the lapel of the shirt Sigyn was wearing.

Sigyn's eyes widened. "No, no, no, you're lying!"

Loki's crimson eyes glowed. "I am old, but not so old that I cannot remember my own shirt," he purred. "You know, when we were married, back when the Vikings roamed Miðgarðr and made up the rules for marriage and divorce, our marriage contract was very specific about the right of annulment when your partner wears the clothes of the opposite gender. You, of course, had the right to divorce me many times… when I turned into a mare for example, or when I dressed as a woman to smuggle Thor into that one giant's engagement party. And now, I see you are wearing my shirt, wife, and very unwomanly jeans."

Sigyn threw herself at Loki's ankles. "No, no, no, no, don't do this! I was faithful! I was dutiful!"

"I divorce you," Loki said, holding his hand out flat and parallel to the ground, moving it across the air in a cutting motion. "I return to you the land that was your dowry and grant you the home I made for you in Ásgarðr as a token of my leniency."

"No!" Sigyn sobbed at Loki's feet. Her head snapped up as she stared at Hermione.

Hermione stood dispassionately beside Loki, her expression as untelling as stone.

"You!" Sigyn growled, madness swirling in her eyes. "You ruined everything!" Sigyn launched herself off the ground towards Hermione.

An armoured gauntlet grabbed Sigyn by the collar and yanked her back, causing the Goddess to cough.

"Lady Sigyn," the Æsir guard greeted, pressing a spear tip to her throat. "We have orders to take you back to Ásgarðr, where you will stand before Odin for your crime against our most sacred places."

Sigyn let out a strangled wail, her hands clawing at her hair and face as the contingent of guards dragged her out of the cavern by force.

"Prince Loki, Lady Hermione," an elder guard bowed a greeting after the others left. "Forgive the late arrival. Heimdall could not see into this place until the blood was shed upon the soil. We came as soon as the word was given to Odin."

"Your timing was well enough, Dellingr," Loki responded, inclining his head with an arrogant tilt. His features reflected the blue of his frost giant heritage.

"All-Father is furious," Dellingr said respectively. "None has spilt blood upon the sacred places since the time before the rule of Bör."

Loki gave a gallant shrug and dismissed Dellingr with a gesture. The guard bowed and left the cavern, following after his fellows. Loki looked around him, his brow furrowing as he saw the cavern's outbreak of spring foliage and the contrasting wasteland. One eyebrow arched into his black hair. He stood next to Hermione, looking down into her face, his pale hand brushing the skin of her cheek with his thumb. "Hermione," he greeted softly. " _Min älskling_."

The raven on Hermione's shoulder cawed deeply, rustling his feathers.

"You have a raven," Loki said, his brows furrowing. "Did you steal him from Odin?"

Hermione snorted. "Severus, this is Loki," she introduced. "Loki, Severus. He was my Witness… to my Trial and my Gauntlet back to the living."

Loki tilted his head before bowing slightly at the neck. "I imagined you taller," Loki confessed to the bird.

Severus made a scratchy sound and turned his head to ignore Loki.

"I see we will get along famously," Loki chuckled.

"Hush, Severus," Hermione said, clamping her hand over his beak briefly. She smiled at him genuinely, and the raven puffed his feathers out and sighed outwardly with a caw. "I can understand you just fine, Severus, even if he can't, so yelling at me is not going help."

"He's yelling at me?" Loki enquired.

Hermione's grin was instant. "Calling you a dunderhead."

"Insulted by a corvid," Loki clucked his tongue against his teeth. His face grew serious. "I am honoured to meet you, Severus. I fear I was unprepared for introductions."

Severus turned his head back to peer at Loki, and he gave a slight bow to his avian head.

"You wear the trappings of a Goddess, my Lady," Loki noted, his finger tracing the gryphons in relief on her armour.

"I am just a witch," Hermione said, shaking her head, "that is extremely hard to kill."

Severus pecked her sharply on the neck as Ouroboros struck her ear with his fangs.

Loki pressed his lips together in amusement as Hermione sighed in resignation.

"Fine," Hermione yielded. "I passed my Trial and survived Death's Gauntlet."

"And if that does not make you a Goddess, dear Lady," Loki purred, "what, pray tell, would?"

"Loki," Hermione said, pressing her palms to his cheeks and pressing her lips to his chin. "I just fought my way through waves of all manner of beast, creature, and alien. On the way back to life, I ended up bound to an entire race of creatures so old they make the dark look young. Then, I finally made my way back to life only to find you for all appearances dead and bleeding out over me, and your maniacal wife standing over you like she wanted to have another go at you. Can we skip over the debate on whether or not I am a Goddess and go straight to the marvellous reunification sex?"

Loki's eyes bled crimson as an evil smile spread across his face.

As it turned out, Alaskan king crabs and gingerbread cookies rained over Calgary for the next week and Montana's beef cows were replaced by life-sized chocolate replicas.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This chapter is the longest chapter I have ever written on any story at one time. Yikes. Hug me. I need one. Not sure when the next chapter will be. I have another month of crazy summer classes.
> 
> Synopsis for those who may have lost their score cards for how Hermione/Loki ended up how they did:
> 
> Death's gift to those who survive his/her "test" in Marvel Universe is immortality and ageless life (Dr Strange, for example, and the Ancient One have both passed this test.) To each Death tests, the test is different. In Hermione's case, it was the Trial and Gauntlet that first tested her mind and then her fighting skill. Hermione has no martial skills from her time at Hogwarts (witches and wizards tend to throw spells not kicks to the face,) but her bond with Loki allowed her to tap into his memories when she needed them the most.
> 
> Hermione passed the test, and Death bestowed her Death's Mark upon her forehead. The price, however, is that she will always know when someone is to die, and sometimes, she will be the cause of it, sending the soul to her ultimate Master, Death. This, however, is not her sole duty or function. Because she passed a very special Trial and Gauntlet, the kind that Ascends the worthy to becomes God(esseses,) she is sent "back to the living" with her Witness/Chevaliers, Severus and Ouroboros. Death implied (if you read carefully) that Loki is already bound to her and Hermione has already been reborn (Happy Birthday!). They are tied for eternity, and since Hermione cannot die, neither can her knights and ultimately, neither can Loki.
> 
> The shadowy creatures are primordial beasts that were the servants of the earliest gods, cast aside and forgotten when the aliens/creatures/beings that believed that evil existed in the dark and that the gods needed to be prayed to to save them. When those Gods moved on to different roles, they cast aside their ancient "tools" for new ones. They are drawn to Hermione because she passed the Trial and she Ascended. The price they asked of her for their service was to prove she bore the mark of Death. She sacrificed herself to them, allowing them to tear her to pieces and took her into themselves. She was then reborn for the second time as a Goddess as Loki "died" on top of her.
> 
> Loki, the mortal Norse God, died. He, like Hermione, was reborn. (Level up!) He has Ascended to be the God of Chaos and Mischief, and she has become the Lady Ouroboros, Sorceress, Mother, and Executioner.
> 
> Is Hermione just going to embrace being a Goddess and take up that duty all in one go? Not likely. She's going to probably ease herself into the role with the help of her mate, the Ásgarðr, and those like Dr Strange, who have also passed Death's tests.
> 
> The irony? Loki has obtained what his father, Odin, has been seeking since the beginning: a way to survive Ragnarök. Loki, only wanted a fair shake at the throne with Thor (way back when,) now has his own throne and a queen at his side eternal.
> 
> Will they take up that cup right now? No. They have the twins to raise, and Hermione will want them to live a nice (albeit long) normal life to the best of her ability to give it to them.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the wild ride that was this chapter. Phew.


	7. Basil and Bad Influnces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sigyn gets her just desserts.  
> Hermione has a task from the Goblin Nation.  
> Loki returns to fetch his mother's chafing dish.  
> Hermione needs a name for her... shadowy things.  
> Odin consults with the Nornir.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Love: fluffpanda, who puts the sense back in where I seem to have lost it. Wait, what was my name again? Crap...

 

Chapter 7: Basil and Bad Influences

-o-o-o-o-o-o-

“Lady Sigyn,” Odin  said from atop his throne, watching her approach. 

Armoured guards flanked her side like ladies in waiting, only the irony lay in what would have docile smiles, were replaced with scowls. The guards usually kept their expressions neutral when approaching the All-Father’s throne, but the desecrating of one of the most sacred places of old with blood was a crime that made even them unhappy.

Loki, even with all his plotting, battles, and blatant pitting of army after army, never shed blood upon the sacred places.

The moment that blood had been shed upon the area, Heimdall had sent word. The god’s almost all-seeing gaze had focused on it almost immediately. Odin had sent guards down to attend and bring Sigyn back to Ásgarðr.

Heimdall had said his son had fallen, and while Odin was not above punishing his sons for their hubris, he did not see to them being executed. Loki had, on many occasions, pushed that envelope as far as he could without getting a spear to the heart, but despite the facade Odin wore when presiding over his son’s multiple punishments, part of him knew that the reason behind Loki’s less than stellar history had been due to his hand.

Odin had been the one to insist that Frigga never tell Loki of his parentage, and he had been the one that favoured his son Thor over Loki. Even though he had taken Loki in as his son, he did play favourites, and he did conceal the truth. Loki had not handled the truth well, and Odin admitted he would have preferred if he had never known at all. Odin, despite seeing many things coming and going, was resistant to change. It had been this resistance that hoped Loki would never find out about his true parents as well as what had driven him to convince Frigga to arrange a marriage between Loki and Sigyn so many ages ago. He had hoped that the responsibility of a wife, home, and family would have distracted him, and for a time it did—even if that distraction was him desperately trying to get the  Goddess to divorce him.

Sigyn, however, was born to be a Goddess. She was born to the Ásgarðian court, knew her place, and embraced her new status with gleeful exuberance. She had happily taken the apples of Iðunn and enjoyed her endless youth from the moment the apple’s juice had touched her lips.

Unlike Loki, Thor, or a host of the other Gods and Goddesses of Ásgarðr, however, she did not have a sphere of influence. Bragi had been the poet, Thor had been thunder, Frigg had influence on the atmosphere, Loki had embraced mischief, Týr had law and heroic glory, but Sigyn’s domain was remarkably unremarkable. Her name was defined as “victorious  girl-friend,” but Odin had a good feeling that she was not feeling either parts of her name as she stood before him for his judgement. Perhaps, Odin thought to himself, she hadn’t been feeling it since she, too, had found out Loki’s true parentage.

Sigyn had no magic. She did not have a faith built upon her.  Her only reputation had been her dutiful attendance of Loki during his torture despite it all. The experience had not seen her undamaged. Sigyn had taken the brunt of the punishment that had been meant to fall on Loki. While he writhed in pain in physical torment,  she had succumbed to the psychological one. Loki had arisen stronger in his hate and his rage. Sigyn had descended into a concealed madness. Her husband had been  a “traitorous Jötunn,” her sons had murdered each other, and she had been “forced” into keeping the venom from dripping on Loki for too long, lest his writhing break apart Miðgarðr and hasten Ragnarök. 

Odin frowned. Everything seemed to come down to Ragnarök. The more Odin tried to find a way to avoid it, stave it off, or make it less likely to happen, it seemed like his actions just gave Ragnarök one more way to hasten its arrival. It was almost as if—no, that was impossible. He was Odin. He was to save his people from Ragnarök, not hasten their demise.

“Lady Sigyn,” Odin repeated, squaring his shoulders as he looked down at her as she stood in a strange contradiction of defiance and terror. “You have shed blood in one of our most sacred places. You shed not just any blood, but the blood of a fellow God. Do you have anything to say in  your defence?”

“You bound my husband with the guts of my sons in that  sacred place,” Sigyn hissed. “You put a serpent whose venom caused him to writhe in agony for over an Age in darkness and pain, and you think a little blood means something to such a place?”

Odin’s face darkened.  “It was his punishment for his role in Baldr’s death.

“Death? Please,” Sigyn scoffed. “It is obvious that death is something select few seem to find temporary. Lady Frigga seems to be quite alive after her supposed death. Who's to say that Baldr wouldn’t be the same if he served some purpose only the All-Father seems to know?”

Frigga’s fist clenched as she sat at Odin’s side. Her jaw was clenched at the mention of not only her unplanned resurrection but her beloved son’s untimely death. Baldr’s death was still a soft spot for her. The miracle of her return to the living, however, had been no plan of Odin’s. The greater Magic that had allowed it had been beyond the scope of Odin or even Hel, who watched over the domain of Helheimr. Odin’s domain encompassed Valhöll, and Freya’s domain encircled Fólkvangr. Neither he, Hel, or Freya had known what had happened to Frigga when she had been murdered. It was as though she had simply disappeared off of existence. Then, one day, upon the birth of her two grandchildren, she had reappeared. 

No one in Ásgarðr had complained when she returned, however. No one, apparently, except Sigyn. 

Odin stood, his stature became tall as he glared at Sigyn with his one eye. Huginn and Muninn, his raven spies, cawed raspily as he did so,  clutching to their perch upon the back of his throne. “Lady Sigyn, as punishment of your crime, you are hereby stripped of your god-hood and the Apples of Iðunn are to be withheld from you from now until Ragnarök swallows you. Your land and your house, which has been forfeited by Prince Loki upon his legal divorce, remains yours. Those servants who were provided to you may remain to you if, after one cycle of the moon of Miðgarðr, they wish to stay in your service. They are given the right to leave at any time, honour intact, if they so choose. This is my decision. This is my will. Begone from my sight.”

The last Odin saw of Sigyn, ex-wife of Loki, was the look of absolute terror on her face at her sentence. He had not sentenced her to death, no. He had sentenced her to live a long, aging, life with no status and no servants that she could take out her frustrations lest they leave her. 

It was a fate worse than death for a once Goddess of Ásgarðr.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Hermione woke to her twin sons nestled between herself and Loki. Friðr was drooling on her pillow, and George was curled up to her belly with his arms clutching her waist in a childlike version of a death-grip. Crimson bled into her eyes before the brighter blue flooded over it. Blue and white flames flickered in her eye sockets and faded, allowing to the the more human brown to surface.

Loki’s arm was draped across her body, his face pressed into the mass of her curls. His dark cobalt skin contrasted against hers. He sighed softly into her neck, instinctively pulling her closer, and Hermione felt the drowsiness tug her in like a siren’s song.

For the first time, the twins had wriggled their way into the bed with them as their parents slept, insistent that they join with them. The twins had rejoiced at the return of their mother’s ‘normal’ personality. Their magic seemed to settle with the return of their mother’s accustomed personality. Whether the twins were aware of the true extent of what had happened, Hermione wasn’t sure. Her children were brilliant, but they were also young. They were too young to understand what their mother had gone through to return to them and what Loki had done in the quest to find her.

It was with some relief, however, that Hermione realised the twins were not joining in true hibernation with their parents. Instead, they just wanted to be close to them for a time, and she could not fault them for that. She relaxed in the knowledge that her sons were not going to be bound by the same disregard for time as their parents. There was a good chance that both Friðr and George would live a nice, long, normal life. Whether that was in an Ásgarðr or Miðgarðr sense, she had no idea, but she was happy enough that her sons would have the opportunity to experience something normal while having parents that were definitively not so normal.

The bond between herself and Loki seemed stronger than ever. Whatever combination of events that had created what she was had also spilt over onto Loki. Death had given her its Mark, and Loki of all beings that walked the Realms was bound to her by more than simple promises. 

Friðr and George seemed more than excited about the “new additions to the family.” They begged her to allow them to take “Uncle Severus” and show him the sights. The grumpy raven suffered through being carried in their arms, his large body practically dwarfing the boy that was trying to clutch him to his chest. They didn’t care how he got there. They didn’t even question how it was possible. Acceptance, the gift of childhood innocence, allowed them to take the impossible as possible. Their reactions to “mum’s cool snake” and her entourage of “wicked dogs” was handled with the blind enthusiasm of youth.

An owl hooted softly from the nearby chair. It shuffled along the edge of the chair’s back, looking like it wanted to come closer if it wasn’t for the shadowy feline-canine creature that was laying at the foot of the bed.

Hermione’s eyes focused and she sat up, extending her arm. The owl came to her arm and hooted softly, giving the creature on the bed a wary glance. She ran her fingers across the small owl’s breast feathers, causing the small bird to make soft sounds of appreciation. It extended its leg to expose parchment wrapped around its leg.

Hermione tugged it free and transferred the owl to her knee, handing the bird an owl nut from the bed stand.

My Lady Ouroboros,

We have an issue that requires delicate handling of the nature you are well known to take care of expediently.

Double your normal fees and commission will be in effect for this assignment.

Please meet with me at the normal place.

Respectfully,

Gnashtooth, Gringotts Wizarding Bank

 

Hermione passed her hand over the parchment, replacing the writing with her reply. She placed her seal on the message and carefully tied it to the owl’s leg. The owl nibbled on her fingers gently, and she passed it another owl nut with a small smile. The owl spread its wings and took off, flying out the open window with a soft trilling call.

Generation after generation of goblins knew her, and none of them had revealed her identity to the Wizarding world. Perhaps it did not serve them to do so, or perhaps they had far more honour than humans gave them credit for. Either way, they had treated her with respect throughout the years that had not faltered. The least she could do was help them with their problem. She could read between the lines enough to realised that had a problem the “normal” methods were not working to solve. Calling her was always a bit of a last resort. They would never insult her by offering her a job that was easily taken by one of their regular Curse-Breakers. The insult seemed relative. There was a time when Hermione would have appreciated “an easy job” from time to time.

“What is it,  min älskling ?” Loki purred, his lips pressing into the curve of her neck.

Hermione’s eyes fluttered, the feeling of contentment drove away coherent thoughts. “Goblins need something taken care of,” she replied with a soft groan.

“Hn,” Loki said, stroking the line of her neck with his fingers. “Must be important.”

Hermione sighed. “Probably, and I should arrange to have vaults set aside for Friðr and George while I am there,” she replied, pausing a moment. “If I could just remember what names we decided on. Seems like forever ago.”

Loki chuckled. “You are Helen.”

“Oh, right, and Solberg, yes?” she mumbled.

Loki nibbled on her neck. “Mmm.”

Hermione looked down to gaze upon her sleeping children and smiled.

Loki stood up and drew her to him, pulling her into an embrace. “They will be fine. Their magic needed to know you were really there, I think.”

“Am I?” Hermione asked.

Loki grasped her chin between his fingers. “Mmhmm.”

“I feel like,” Hermione said softly. “I feel like I should have more scars to prove I really survived something significant.”

Loki shook his head, tucking her under his chin. His chaotic magic swirled around them, enveloping her with its tendrils like a gentle caress. “You have enough scars,  min älskling,  and enough pain.”

“Mmmph,” she murmured. “Pot meet cauldron.”

Loki kissed her gently, his eyes combined blue with red for a piercing violet. “I have my therapy.”

Hermione snorted, running her finger down the bridge of his nose. “Some would call me an expensive and high maintenance therapy,” she whispered in return.

“Worth every ingot,” he purred his reply. He smiled at her with genuine warmth. It was terribly disarming, and had he not been sincere, she knew she would be in a heap of trouble. Fortunately, while Loki wasn’t using his powers for the ‘greater good’ per se, he was at least not using them against her. It felt good to be with him, near him, and sharing the same space as him. It was the only thing that mattered.

“I should go,” Hermione said, pressing her lips to his in a tender show of affection.

“The last time you left me in the morning, it did not end well for my ex-wife,” Loki said with a soft half-smile on his face.

“Shall I promise you that I shall not be hoodwinked by a random old woman in the park again?” Hermione jested.

“It would be a start,” Loki replied dryly.

Hermione tilted back her head and laughed, blue flames leaked out from her eyes, swallowing them up. “Let them try, beloved,” she chuckled.

Severus materialised on her shoulder as her armour formed around her. Her curling silver horns swept back from her forehead in a graceful arch. Ouroboros’ coils moved around her gorget as the adopted serpent from the the depths of the earth coiled around her arm. A handful of black, wispy shapes materialised around legs, eyes glowing in the dimness of the room. Hermione traced a circle in the air, forming her fingers into an intricate formation.

Glowing runes swirled around her as a portal gate swallowed her up, taking both her and those with her to her destination with a low whooshing sound.

“Show off,” Loki chuckled as the glow of the portal disappeared.

A shadowy “pup” slunk around his legs and looked up at him adoringly; it's eyes were glowing miniature versions of the menacing adult form's smoldering orbs. It stared up at him with a sickeningly cute expression.

Loki reached out and ran his fingers through the wispy, dark vapor, scratching the more solid ‘flesh’ underneath. “Your task is to wake the children and make sure they are ready for tutoring with mother.”

The shadow-pup whooshed off towards the bed and pounced on top, sending the twins flying in opposite directions.

Loki grinned as he exited the room, his ears ringing with the squeals of his children being woken up against their will. He was going to enjoy having minions.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-

When Hermione walked down the main aisle down Gringott’s Wizarding Bank, she found only the faces had changed. The building, smell, and feel of the place did not change. As she walked in the main doors, Severus cawed a low rumble as she strode in much like a certain Potion Master had done every year of his life teaching at Hogwarts. Her sweeping back cape fluttered behind her like flag.

‘Someone was paying too much attention to how I entered rooms,’ Severus sniffed into her mind as his beak rapped up against her ear.

‘ Someone was a unforgettable example ,’ Hermione replied, leaning against the cranky raven with a smile.

‘ Wonderful ,’ Severus grumbled. ‘ Of all the things you could pick up from my decades of teaching, you pick up my room entrance mannerisms .’

Hermione snickered mentally, reaching up to soothe Severus’ feathers with her hand as she walked. Eyes were upon her, and she realised that even for the Wizarding style of dress, she looked as elegant as a Malfoy walking into the bank. The irony wasn’t lost upon her.

The dark creatures at her legs had manifested into two solid black dogs that looked suspiciously like grims. Hermione’s mouth twitched as she imagined Ron’s horrified expression if he were to see her now. Some of the wizards and witches around the bank must have had similar thoughts because they whispered frantically to themselves as she passed. She smoothly passed by them, coming to a stop at the end of a somewhat long line leading to one of the large goblin desks.

A young girl that clung to her distracted mother’s robes stared up at Hermione with wonder in her eyes. The girl was probably ten or eleven at the most, and Hermione eyes flashed as her senses scanned the girl for her magical signature. She had strong potential, but her magic was uncontrolled and untrained.

“Hello!” the girl said wondrously, staring up at Hermione like she was a celestial visitor.

“Hello, child,” Hermione greeted, smiling at her warmly.

“I’m going to Hogwarts this year,” the girl announced proudly. “Mummy says we’re going to diagonally after we are done here.”

“Many a witch starts their journey at Diagon Alley,” Hermione said with a twitch of her mouth, amused at the play on words.

“I bet you went to Hogwarts too!” the girl said.

“Hn,” Hermione replied. “Many, many years ago.”

“When you were my age?” the girl asked, bouncing on her tiptoes.

Hermione nodded. “Aye, when I was your age.”

“You look like a professor,” the girls said.

Hermione chuckled. “Perhaps, I was,” she replied.

“Your dogs are very stern looking,” the girl said. “May I pet them?”

Hermione’s eyes flicked to her two four-legged companions, eyes flaring blue for an instant, answered by their glowing eyes. “You may, but be gentle.”

The girl reached out with both hands to rub the closest of the dogs with her fingers, gently stroking their ears. She giggled as the one nudged under her hand with his muzzle, seeking what the other had been given with jealousy.

“Shelia,” the mother admonished. “What have I told you about petting strange dogs?”

“Mummy,” Shelia protested. “These aren’t strange at all. Their eyes glow all pretty—”

“Shelia!” the woman pulled her away. “I am sorry, ma’am,” she stammered. “She’s just so curious.”

Hermione shook her head slowly. “No problem,” she replied, her eyes flicking to the sorrowful eyes of the girl who wanted to go back to petting the ‘doggies.’ “The young should be encouraged to learn when fear and prejudice are only words yet to be learned.” Hermione’s face had a disarming smile that seemed an echo of Loki’s.

“I, uh, yes,” the mother stammered.

Hermione knelt down and cast her hand over her companion’s dark wispy fur that she could see regardless of what form they took. She clutched it in her hand a moment, closing her fist down upon it. She held her hand out to the girl’s.

Shelia put her hands in a cup formation under her much larger hand. Hermione released what she was holding, allowing a dark charm bracelet with two obsidian dogs hanging from a silver chain threaded through shimmering moonstones.

The little girl’s eyes grew wide with excitement. “For me?” she squeaked.

Hermione’s lips pressed together. “For you.”

Shelia quickly slid it over her wrist and tackled Hermione’s waist. “Thank you, Professor!” she blurted.

Shelia’s mother looked even more flustered. “Come, Shelia,” she said, tugging her daughter away. “We shouldn’t inflict ourselves on strangers.”

“My Lady Ouroboros,” a goblin greeted with a bow to Hermione. “Head Goblin Gnashtooth is ready to meet with you. He apologises for the wait.”

“Thank you, Tagas,” Hermione replied in Gobbledegook, recognising the the name on the pin at his collar. The intricate runes of Gobbledegook were easily dismissed as meaningless designs, but Hermione’s untold years working with Goblins had given her far more knowledge of the Goblin inner workings than most witches or wizards ever got to see.

Tagas’ eyes grew wide and he bowed more deeply.

Shelia’s mother’s eyes grew even wider as realisation dawned that her daughter had befriended someone important, and she had inadvertently offered offence to someone the goblins respected—something any educated witch or wizard knew was rarer than rare.

Hermione’s eyes passed over Shelia’s mother as though she were insignificant and rested on Shelia. “Do well in school, child,” Hermione said warmly.

“I will!” Shelia replied with excitement.

Hermione gave a smile and nod and walked down the aisle past Tagas, allowing him to usher her to the adjoining room, leaving an excited young witch and a flabbergasted mother to gather their thoughts.

-o-o-o-o-

“My Lady Ouroboros,” Gnashtooth greeted from his desk. “Galleons come and go,” he said formally in Gobbledegook.

“But silver is the lifeblood of the Goblin race,” she answered formally, bowing her head.

“You have not aged a day, my Lady,” he said warmly, his sharp teeth grit together in what Hermione knew was a smile for a Goblin. “Our portraits of you do you no justice.”

Hermione shook her head. “I fear what I would find if I were see the old portraits, Gnashtooth,” she replied, clenching her teeth and baring them in friendly greeting.

Goblin customs, Hermione had learned over the years, were a bit opposite of human ones. It was probably why goblins could not take humans seriously and vice versa. Humans thought goblins were threatening them when they smiled, and goblins thought that humans were the most offensive creatures that couldn’t be polite if their life depended on it.

Bill had taught her a few things when she had been just getting into defending goblin rights during her tenure working for the ministry, and the rest she had learned from the goblins from keen observation. Many things she did not pick up until decades had passed, but to one such as her, time was hardly an unsurmountable hurdle.

“Nothing but respect, Lady Ouroboros,” Gnashtooth said with a friendly grimace and show of teeth. He took her hand, and pressed his teeth to her wrist in formal respect, his sharp teeth leaving a slight imprint of the depth of his respect.

Hermione bared her teeth in mutual respect given to the elder Goblin, and he nodded in acceptance.

Goblin courtesy was a strange thing for a human. Hermione admitted it had taken her a few times before the gestures because natural to her. Pureblood wizard custom would have had a heart attack and fallen flat on its back if they realised what Goblins did in their equivalent of “high goblin society.” Hermione found it utterly amusing. Both parties would think the other “primitive animals.”

“I fear the assignment we require of you, my Lady,” Gnashtooth said, “is a little embarrassing for us.” The goblin shook his head. “One of our vaults contained basilisk eggs. It was a Dark wizard’s vault. As you know, goblins care little of what or who our clients are. We only care that they cause no trouble when visiting.”

Hermione nodded.

“This wizard left a crate of something we knew was only dormant and packed in straw,” Gnashtooth said. “Only recently, however, the crate was less than dormant.”

Hermione raised a brow.

The goblin rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Three goblins and two of our curse-breakers were petrified before we realised what was going on. Also one of our lower level guardian dragons was also petrified. No one wishes to go down there once they realised what was down there. We even tried to release a handful of roosters in the lower levels, but were eaten before they could crow. The entire level has been cut off, which makes it impossible to reach the lower vaults. This makes many important vaults impossible to visit, and with the start of the latest term at the Wizarding schools—”

Hermione waved her hand. “I understand.” Irony stirred in her blood. Where was Harry and the Sword of Godric Gryffindor when you truly needed it? “Have you contacted the one who owns the vault?”

“He has been,” Gnashtooth gave a goblin shrug, “detained by Aurors.”

“Azkaban then,” Hermione grunted.

Gnashtooth nodded.

Hermione’s hand went up to her gorget, the ethereal coils of Ouroboros slithered across her fingers. “I suppose I should start then,” she said thoughtfully. “As I do not see waiting as something you wish to do when hundreds of vaults are effectively inaccessible.”

The elder goblin shorted and inclined his head, baring his teeth in a goblin chuckle.

Hermione took in a deep breath. “I need you to clear the upper vaults until I come back up,” she said after a bit, “just in case.”

Gnashtooth raised a brow. “Should I expect a dragon breaking through the floor?”

Hermione sighed in response, even though her face flushed with embarrassment. “Will I ever live that down?”

Gnashtooth bared his teeth with amusement. “Nay, my Lady. Some stories will remain as immortal as you.”

Severus turned his head to rawk into her ear, “Kek!”

Hermione rubbed the space between her eyes. “Glorious.” At least she wasn’t known as the Lady-Who-Broke-Through-the-Floor-Riding-a-Ukrainian-Ironbelly.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Hermione sat in a circle of glowing runes. Her hands were pressed together into a strange shape as she pressed her palms to her knees as she sat cross-legged.

The image of the icy Jötunheimr filled her mind, and her eyes began glow crimson, her skin shifting to a dark cobalt blue, mirroring her mate’s Jötunn appearance. Wisps of biting cold arched outward from her body. Icicles dangled from Severus’ beak, and he occasionally shook them off.

Shards of ice blew around her as snow blew through the vaults. One baby basilisk was curled in her lap, seeking the warmth of her body and promises of her protection if he left from the vaults willingly without hurting anyone. The rest of them, perhaps corrupted before they had even hatched, were already seeped in the blood lust caused by those they had killed already. They were past reason and Hermione was past caring.

The baby basilisk peered out of her lap to look around, his solitary red feather on his head perked up as the ice and snow whirled around them. His baleful orange eyes looked about as blizzard conditions increased to whiteout conditions. As promised, however, the Speaker who promised him succour for coming peacefully provided him warmth and shelter, allowing him to curl up tucked into the layers of fabric covering her lap.

“Kill! Kill! Kill!” The voices of the other basilisks were calling around him.

The baby basilisk shook his head, curling up into a tighter ball in the Speaker’s lap.

Blue and black energy was swirling around the protective circle as the cold level dropped even further. The waterfalls around them froze in place as the climate of Jötunheimr invaded the vaults.

When all that could be heard was the crackling of ice rubbing on ice, Hermione’s eyes opened, glowing red. Her face was completely emotionless as her voice commanded coldly, “Kill them.”

The shadow creatures beside her bolted from her side with identical snarls. The sounds of battle resounded through the frozen vaults, and the shadow creatures zipped in and out through the walls as though they were not there at all. Screams from the homicidal basilisks echoed as the shadow creatures tracked them down and tore them to pieces.

Hermione’s hand went down to her lap, her finger drew across the baby basilisk’s head between the eyes. “Be still. I shall take your hearing for a time. Do not panic.”

The baby basilisk hunkered down in her lap, frightened as all the sound around disappeared. Her hand, however, drew across his head again with a reassuring brush of skin against scale, and he stilled, trying to be patient. His solitary red feather crest rose with his curiosity, and he peeked out over her lap once again.

Hermione traced runes in the air in front of her, pulled the raven off her shoulder, and launched him into the runes. The raven flew through them, transforming into a large black rooster. He tilted back his head and crowed loudly, the sound echoing throughout the caverns, floors, and vaults so loudly that the stone rumbled around them. The rooster crowed again, sending his call throughout the chamber, and screams of the remaining basilisk that had evaded the shadows sounded off from many deep corners. One last time the rooster crowed, and this time, nothing answered him.

Hermione drew another circle in the air, and the black rooster hopped through it with fluttering wings, transforming into the raven once more and landing on her shoulder. Hermione drew her hand across the raven’s feathers, her red eyes shifted into blue fire and then brown. Her hand drew across the baby basilisk’s head, and the serpent loosened the tight coil he had formed in her lap. He looked around, his red feather perking up as he cast his gaze around, tongue flicking in and out to taste the air. Then, as if to make a final decision, he slithered into her inner robe’s pocket where he could lay next to her warmth and be unseen.

The cold dissipated and faded, the snow and ice began to melt like the spring thaw, and the large waterfalls began to flow again. Hermione stood, her eyes flashing, and the shadow creatures bounded back to her. Her hand drew across their heads and back as her eyes flashed, echoed in their eyes. The creatures licked her hands and licked their jowls. She knew they had fed on their prey. There would be nothing left to evidence the basilisks had been there save the petrified victims that had come before her and the baby basilisk that was curled up in the warm pocket of her robe next to her hip.

‘ You’re the bloody snake whisperer ,’ Severus commented into her mind.

“If you hadn’t noticed,” Hermione said, “this wasn’t exactly the non violent way of handling it.”

‘ You have a baby basilisk in your pocket, Hermione ,’ Severus said with a mental roll of his eyes, ‘ that is not exactly normal. If Slytherin could see you now… ’

“I don’t think even Harry would believe what I just did,” Hermione said with a sigh.

‘I won’t tell him if you don’t,’ Severus replied dryly.

“You’re all heart, Severus,” Hermione grunted.

‘Don’t go telling everyone,’ he answered. ‘ It would ruin my perfectly snarky reputation.’

Hermione drew her hand across the raven’s head and back and leant into his body. “Bright side: we’ll have enough funds to give Friðr and George their own vaults to carry them through Hogwarts for seven years.”

‘ And pay for the damages to all the things they blow up like their namesakes, ’ Severus quipped.

Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose.

‘ Careful, you’re starting to pick up more than just my dramatic entries and exits, ’ Severus said with a mental smile.

“Fantastic,” Hermione said with a shake of her head, starting her trek up through the vaults to the surface.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Hermione found herself petting the little baby basilisk on the top of the head between the eyes, and the little creature radiated a happiness so genuine it would have melted her heart, had her heart been frozen to begin with. It looked at her adoringly with his strikingly, normally fatal, orange eyes, his little red feather crest rising and falling with his appreciation of her touch.

Idly, Hermione wondered how much more friendly basilisks would be if they didn’t immediately murder anyone they looked in the eyes from day one. Nothing killed social time like a nice petrification.

Deciding she probably needed to do something about the creature’s innate ability to murder with his stare, she ran her fingers across his eyes. Immediately the scales running across his head painted glistened a startling cobalt blue colour and a blue-tint covered the snake’s usual cornea, giving the small creature his own version of serpentine Ray-bans. The baby basilisk didn’t seem to notice a difference, and now, at the very least, if someone happened to wander up and notice her little friend, she wouldn’t be guilty of a random account of murder.

The little guy had patch of bright green scales shaped like a leaf on his head, and Hermione smiled, thinking that it reminded her of the basil in her mother’s old garden.

“Hrm, how about Basil?” she asked the baby basilisk.

The basilisk was basking in the sunbeam, curling his body around her wrist tightly as though she were the last branch in the world. He didn’t seem to mind.

“Basil it is then,” Hermione chuckled.

Ouroboros was chuckling in her mind; his warm coils moved across her neck.

“You’ve become the quintessential Slytherin since my death, ” Severus muttered.

“I’m not—”

‘You just keep trying to tell yourself that, Hermione ,’ Severus said, pecking the side of her head with his beak.

Hermione slumped. She might as well just make herself a river and flow through northeastern Africa.

She needed to have more Gryffindor friends. Being mated to the ultimate Slytherin and having a Slytherin Potion Master as her best friend as well as a growing collection of serpents was not helping her be—

“ Brave, annoying, reckless, outspoken, and idiotic? ” Severus offered.

Hermione slumped again. Damn it all.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Sitting in the park was always relaxing to her, Hermione realised. She would remember her parents walking with her and laughing as she feed the ravenous ducks.

Hermione shook her head. With the growing collection of snakes she was collecting, she was fast becoming the adopted heir of Salazar Slytherin himself. The poor ducks would probably think her the Harbinger of Death.

Hermione slapped her palm to her face.

' You are, technically, the Harbinger of--'  Severus began.

"Shut it," Hermione groaned, clamping her fingers over the raven's beak as though it would muffle his mental voice.

Severus made muffled mental grumbles to humour her.

Hermione chuckled and lay her head back on the bench.  A slight tickle alerted her to fluffy interlopers below her. Baby ducks, oblivious to her entourage, nipped at the weeds between her toes. 

One fuzzy duckling clambered up over one of her  dog’s muzzles. He peeped victoriously as king of the mountain as the glowing eyes of his perch watched him. Hermione shook her head at the danger the little creature was in and wondered if this was what Loki saw when looking at most humans...so many oblivious fluffy ducklings standing on the mouth of their death and not realising it. 

Hermione’s hand cupped around Basil’s face as his head cocked back, eyes intent on the potential meal in nearby.  The baby basilisk emitted confusion, not understanding why he wasn’t allowed to eat food that was so obviously there just in front of his face like--

Hermione groaned. Ducklings in a barrel. Hermione’s eyes flicked to the very annoying squirrel that was dropping nut shells down upon her from above.  Her eyes flickered as she set Basil down on one of the lower branches.

“If you can catch it,” Hermione said, “ and it is smaller than you, you may eat it. Up there. Nothing down on the ground.”

Basil bristled with serpentine excitement, making his way up the bark of the trunk like he was born to be arboreal. 

Part of Hermione, perhaps the most obstinately Gryffindor part, complained bitterly that she had just loosed the equivalent of a tyrannosaurus rex  into a pen of domestic cattle. The part of Hermione that had evolved from her days of championing any and everything “just because it wasn’t right” simply enjoyed the fact that Basil was practicing life skills and that fat squirrel that had probably never feared anything in his life would learn the true meaning of evolution.

You are disgustingly Slytherin , Old Hermione pouted.

“Evolve or die,” Hermione answered herself, outloud.

Devolve, more like, Old Hermione sulked.

The raven on her shoulder rapped his beak against her temple with a loud thunk as Ouroboros bit her ear, driving the fragment of her old self back into hiding. 

Lady Ouroboros leaned back against the bench, eyes closed, a smug Loki-ish smile spreading across her face. Three against one seemed perfectly fair.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

As Hermione stood  in the marshes, her eyes half closed as she listened to the rustling of the reeds. The scent of the water running by her boots was fresh with life and death; the balance of the wetland detailed in the very air she breathed.

It had been a long time since she set foot in this particular marsh, and even longer still since she had been welcomed to do so. It wasn’t that she had been unwelcome, but the family that had once been like a surrogate family had long since faded into obscurity.

As she closed her eyes, she could almost hear Molly Weasley’s voice shrilly admonishing Fred and George to stop pranking  Ginny, and in an equally shrill tone, admonishing Ginny to stop hexing her brothers.

“When are you going to settle down with a nice young wizard, Hermione?” Molly’s voice tutted. 

“Oh,  leave her alone, Molly,” Arthur laughed. “She’ll settle when she finds the right one, not before. Isn’t that right, my dear?”

“Psh, she’ll never settle, dad,” Ron’s voice scoffed. “No one’s good enough for her.”

“Ronald Bilius Weasley,” Molly snarled. 

Hermione opened her eyes, letting out a snort of air as she remembered the old banter and bitterness. Ron had married and had his obligatory horde of children, but he had never let it go that she had been unable to forgive him his weakness in the Forest of Dean and the accusations he had broken her with. He had flaunted the he had married and had kids long before her. It had been as if marrying and having children was somehow the cumulate testament to success. 

If that were true, Hermione supposed, she was still a failure. Untold centuries later, she still wasn’t married, technically, at least by ceremony. She did have kids, and she did have a mate. She was content, far more at ease with herself and what she was, and she was never lonely. If that wasn’t success, well, she’d happily accept her failure.

Severus preened her ear, working his beak around her hair and tugging it into place. The warmth from his body radiated a sort of comfort that was hard to explain. The bond she had with Crookshanks had been friendly and comforting, but while the half-Kneazle had been her familiar, Severus felt like home. Crookshank’s comfort left when he had left the room, but no matter where  Severus was, she felt his comforting presence.  Ouroboros, of course, never left her neck, so she wasn’t sure what it would feel like if he slithered off to take care of whatever errands an serpent of his nature did.

Hermione scratched Severus under the chin and under his wings, causing the raven to caw softly in approval. He was so much more at ease as a raven than ever he had been as a human.  He still managed to scowl, make grand entrances and exits, and scare the daylights out of unsuspecting children and some adults, but Hermione figured he had over a hundred years of experience in that department.

Hermione took one last look at the towering house that was the Burrow, happy to see that it was still standing and in good repair. She hoped that whoever was living there now were as happy as the ones who had rebuilt it after the war. There was a lot of memories contained in the walls, and she wished whoever was there well in making many more.

Hermione let a small wistful smile creep across her face as  the crack of her Disapparate carried her away.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

As Loki felt the Bifröst release him on the platform, he squared his shoulders and flared his nostrils. The scent of Ásgarðr assaulted his nose. There was something about it that was distinctly not of Miðgarðr, despite the similar trees, lakes, and atmosphere.

Heimdall nodded to him, his golden eyes sweeping over him to take in the God of Chaos and Mischief with hardly a change in expression, at least until Friðr and George let out a squeal of excitement, peeled themselves off of Loki’s legs, and pounced on Heimdall like two hungry fleas on a hound.

The Bifröst’s guardian staggered as the twins tackled him, his warm laughter was something Loki privately enjoyed. Heimdall was usually the ultimate in seriousness the majority of the time, but the twins had a way of charming Ásgarðr to its knees, one Ásgarðian at a time.

“Can we stay with you, today, Uncle Heimdall?” the twins begged shamelessly. “Please?”

Heimdall’s eyes flicked over to Loki for permission, and Loki shook his head in reply.  “I suppose,” Heimdall grunted, eliciting a cheer from the two boys. 

Loki swept off the Bifröst dais and walked the long bridge towards the main city. Wispy shadow creatures wove in and out of his legs and dashed in and out of everything, exploring, learning, and discovering all that was to be seen.

His bond with them had stabilised along with the bond to his mate, and he found their thoughts far more intricate than their actions belied. To the surface, they were savage beasts, primal is appearance and in the mind, but Loki knew there was far more cunning and intelligence behind their beastly façade. While they knew of intricate things and deeper thoughts, the truth was they cared not about them. Their purpose, much as it has always been, was to serve. Intelligence was a means to the end. Violence was a means to the end. Yet, with all their ruthlessness, they took their moments to enjoy  lounging with Fenrisúlfr, chasing the twins, and attending to whatever business they preferred when not being called to  do something official. 

Loki could sense their joy at being filled with purpose again.  Having been bound to service of once such as Hermione and Loki gave them reason again, satisfying their hunger of animus. It was this primordial design that had allowed them to wait, Ages untold, for just the right being to accept their  desire. It was the true flawlessness of their ability to be conduits of will that had made them so ideal to the original God that had utilised them. It was that same unwavering allegiance that had allowed them to taken so off kilter when that very same God left them behind.

Loki knew the feeling very well, but they, like him, had found “the one” who would never fail him. He found his purpose for fidelity, his drive for devotion. He embraced the forming of the bond between himself and Hermione with an ardor of a fanatic. She was worth dying for, and he had done so. She was, even more, worth living for, and he knew in the very eldritch tendrils that formed his “soul” that there would be no Loki without Hermione, just as there would be no Hermione without Loki. Not now… and not anymore.

The God of Chaos and Mischief would always stand side by side with Lady Ouroboros, the Goddess of the Unending Cycle— the  Sorceress, the Mother, and the Executioner. As Loki walked down the bridge path, the planters and lanterns that decorated the way randomly turned on or off and relocated from one side or another. Dead plants bloomed, and other healthy plants shrived as he passed. Flowers of the brightest colours turned ordinary, and drab and dark flowers became vibrant and loud with exotic flamboyance, yet Loki paid neither things any heed.   

The road to the estate Loki had built for Sigyn back when the duty of marriage outweighed his desire to be free of it. He had never stopped trying to be provoke the Goddess into divorcing him, but he took his responsibilities seriously back in the day, that is, until things went pear shaped. 

He had felt no pity at all for Sigyn back when he had purposely engaged in a relationship with Angrboða. He had seen the horror in her face when the first hints of his true heritage had begun to leak out. He had not realised at the time what had caused her to cringe away from his gaze and his touch in what should have been a time of mutual  passion. Once he did realise what has caused it, his rutting with Angrboða had been one part satisfaction, one part need, and one part retribution.

As Loki stood at the entrance to the that help more memories to him of his creating it than having spent time there,  his eyes flickered with electric blue fire, lighting up his ice blue irises to an even more startling shade. The moment they did, the shadowy creatures came  oozing out of every nearby building to attend him, swirling around his legs and  gathering in the yard. Some were materialised, and some remained barely visible, but their glowing eyes flashed as their thoughts solidified in their minds, and Loki’s eyes flared in answer.

The creatures disappeared into the house and there was the sound of screams inside. Loki tilted his head, closing his eyes as though he were listening to a glorious symphony. His expression was serene.

The front door crashed open, and one of the shadow beasts had a silver chafing dish in its jaws. It’s teeth were firmly hold on to it as it walked backwards to remove it from the house, but Sigyn was holding onto the other end of it, screeching at the thief to let go of it.

By the time the beast had dragged both the chafing dish and Sigyn across the yard to Loki’s feet, his eyebrows had ascended into his hair with uncontained amusement. Another  beast burst through the open window, carrying the lid, and another attempted to bring something else, but it  ended up clattering to the floor on the opposite side due to being unable to phase through walls like the creatures carrying it. The frustrated beast phased through the wall after it, and returned through the busted down door, carrying what appeared to be the warming element to the ensemble.

“You here to mock me, Loki?” Sigyd spat venomously. “Here to laugh at how low I’ve come? Steal what is left of my dignity?”

“Dear Sigyn,” Loki purred softly, his eyes flashing blue as his hands relieved this shadowy charges of the pieces of the chafing dish. “I am simply here to retrieve my mother’s chafing dish.”

“You gave me the house and its contents as settlement for our  divorce ,” Sigyn seethed, glaring up at him. “Or have you come to take that away from me too?”

Loki pulled back, his  hand going to his chest. “I do not go back on promises.

“Except the promises of our marriage,” Sigyn glowered darkly.

“I promised you a home worthy a Goddess,” Loki said, his hand extending to gesture at the beautiful estate he had created,  “and it was so.”

“You promised you would provide everything!” Sigyn countered.

“I promised I would provide you heirs,” Loki said,  “and I promised I would provide for them until day they were were grown to see their own path.”

“You let them die!” Sigyn wailed.

“I was beaten to the point of death and dragged into the underground for my crimes,” Loki said caustically. “And who do you think were the first two to volunteer their service to the Æsir to prove they were worth to Ascend my throne?”

“No, you’re lying!” Sigyn cried. “They were my boys. They were perfect. They would not have volunteered for that fate!”

“Both of them figured, even if one of them were to survive whatever trial it was, then at least one of them would have had their honour purged of the taint of their Jötunn father,” Loki said coldly. “Only, one embraced his berserker rage and turned into a wolf. He fell upon his brother and tore him apart. But herein lies the irony. A wolf cares not for the throne of Ásgarðr. A wolf cares not for honour.”

“You’re lying, that’s not true,” Sigyn moaned.

“All-father, wishing to make use of the unintentional sacrifice, used our son’s spilt guts to assist in my imprisonment, thinking perhaps my contemplating my son’s fate would teach me something,” Loki recalled. “And do you know, until all of this concluded with your murdering me, this knowledge remained only with Odin and his tightly, guarded mind.” Loki tapped his temple as if to explain. “Knowledge that seems so obvious now that I cast my new eyes upon the histories.”

Sigyn shook her head in denial. “You come here to shove another kind of dagger into me?”

Loki’s face twisted into something resembling shock. “No, dear Sigyn,” he said. “I’ve come for my mother’s chafing dish, which was given on the terms of our marriage. Terms which we have broken with divorce, and I am obligated to return it to her. Do try to keep up.”

Sigyn turned an unattractive shade of red as she  flung the chafing dish at Loki’s head and stormed back into the house, slamming the door. The door creaked off its hinges and fell to the ground with a loud thud, answered by the breaking of something inside the house.

Loki’s straightened from his dodge of the chafing dish and looked to his side. One of the shadow beasts was sitting still, the chafing dish covering its manifested head. Loki reached over, took the dish, brushed it off, and put it under his arm.

“Well then,” he said lightly, walking out the gate and closing it. “Time to give dear mother back her chafing dish.”

The God of Chaos and Mischief waved his hand as he left, and the broken door returned to its hinges and closed, taking on the colour of  day glow orange and horrendous pink polka dots. He whistled a random tune, the shadowy creatures bounding around him as he walked.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

“We have to have a name for them,” Hermione huffed, watching Fenrisúlfr romping around the yard with a dozen or so feline-canine shadowy “things.”

“Call them what they are?” Loki recommended with a gallant shrug.

“As much as i can appreciate the name,” she stopped and made a long chain of growling snarling noises,  “that isn’t very practical in normal conversation!”

“And we are so the epitome of normal anything,” Loki quipped, eyebrow lifting into his hair.

Severus cawed in agreement from his perch in the shade. His vigil watching the twins in the pool was amazingly calm. The twins hadn’t blown anything up or drowned, and Severus hadn’t had to  go for their eyes. Par for the course.

Hermione rubbed the area between her eyes wearily.  Friðr and George were teaching Basil how to be an aquatic predator,  and it would have been something terribly mundane about two boys playing with their “pet snake,” if it wasn’t for the fact that Basil was a basilisk. The surprising ease that the twins took to everything “mum brought home” was a bit alarming.  Loki thought it was endearing, but he was the bloody God of Chaos and Mischief, so he was hardly a great role model.

Basil had strict “no fangs” rule in regards to family behaviour. Other than that,  Hermione didn’t give him too many others. He was free to devour whatever rodents he could catch. Birds of prey were frowned on. Hermione didn’t want one of the owls carrying mail to end up basilisk food. Fish were okay, and frogs and such were on the safe list. Hermione had actually pulled up the Muggle invasive species list and taught the young basilisk that anything on the list was fair game. He could hunt them without fear of repercussion. Someone might even give him a medal, if they actually knew about him, which thankfully no one did.

Basil developed a taste for the invasive minnows, orfes, ruffes, and something called the Asian Topmouth Gudgeon. He would lurk in freshwater places until his stomach was round with invasive species.  Hermione praised him for helping the native salmon species, one minnow at a time. Basil had no idea what he was being praised for, but his stomach was full and he had a warm pocket to curl up in, so he wasn’t complaining. Loki commented one evening that she could rend him out to GreenPeace as invasive species control, causing Hermione to snort her iced tea.

The twins were never deprived of “pets” as it were. Between their job taming the steppe pony Sigyn had inadvertently contributed to the cause, walking with Fenrisúlfr and the feline-canine “things,” and the growing family of snakes, Hermione was positive they would open up their own eventual magizoologist practice the moment they left Hogwarts.  Considering they hadn’t received their letters yet, it was quite the argument. Unlike Hagrid, Merlin rest his soul, her children were not blind to the dangers of the species that sheltered under their roof. Hermione found herself thanking a few stars, lucky and normal, for that particular blessing. She drew the line and harbouring Acromantulas in the house, and the last thing she wanted was baby spiders sheltering in her hair with the snakes. She had to have some standards, bless it.

Hermione had found the clubhouse Sigyn had slaved over strangely sturdy. Hermione put a coating of  varnish on the wood to protect it from the elements and added a rope ladder the twins could enjoy it a little better, but she had to admit that Loki’s ex had did a passable job at it.

The swimming pool amused Hermione greatly. She had always wanted one as a child, and it seemed her prayers were answered-- give or take a few hundred years in coming.

The pony? Well, the twins were making that pony the most bomb-proof unflappable pony in Scotland. Nothing phased that pony. Rain, sleet, magic, snakes, avian attacks, monstrous shadow creatures, and all things in between didn’t phase him. The twins could fling themselves onto him, stand on him, ride him forwards, backwards, and diagonal and the little equine took it all in stride. Hermione blamed it on the fact all the energy the pony might have had was spent running away from a psychotic goddess. Loki shrugged, pointing at his mother as if that explained everything. Frigga gave her a gallant shrug that seemed to say everything Hermione really needed to know.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Odin was, and had been for long as he existed, a God of contradictions.  He was both war and wisdom which many would argue the wise do not seek war. He was an instigator of war in the peaceful. He even reveled in bringing strife to the peaceful if only to watch who emerged victorious. He favoured not those who die mediocre lives but those who were brazen and highly skilled. These were his “worthy.” 

It was no secret that he favoured the berserkers who walked the path of both the spiritual and the battle bond created when man embraced the animal and became as savage as their totem, tearing their enemies apart. In reality, Odin cared not for the winner or the loser, but how deep that raw battle craze took the warrior. Only in battle was life so felt. Only in facing death was there poetry and the epiphany of knowledge.

What few realised is that Odin was a devious God. He was a sovereign above all. He favoured the entitled, and those whose intelligence and creativity flourished in times of war.

He was a seeker of wisdom.  He was hungry for it. So hungry for wisdom, he hung himself by his ankles from the Yggdrasil for nine divine days and nights, shunning all food and water so that wisdom of the ancients would bestow upon him the secrets long buried. During this hanging he was given the runes and the wisdom of their magic and meaning.

What people seldom remembered of Odin was his fierce competitive drive combined with an almost malicious cunning to see his adversaries fall. It was he who once challenged a giant to a contest of knowledge. It was he who asked the giant not some vast and deep question of the universe. No, Odin had asked him a question that only Odin himself would know. He had won, through trickery, and while he valued wisdom and knowledge, outcome was always something more. He had taken the giant’s head as a symbol of his victory.

Odin had his favourites and his prejudices. He stole the great mead of poetry, the  Óðrœrir,  from the giants as he stolen so many things. He held it to himself often, but he also gifted its sweet drops to those he judged worthy of it. To him, nothing was more perfect than a warrior poet who lost themselves in battle to the ecstasy of the fight.

Perhaps it had been his realisation that Thor was taking a little too much from the same plate as him, the apples having not fallen so far from the tree, that caused Odin to cast his son down to Miðgarðr and learn humility. Thor’s arrogance had been big enough to eclipse his father’s, and Odin was his own King. He would stand in no man’s shadow.

Thor had held his pride, arrogance, and warrior fury.

Loki had held his cunning, wisdom, and manipulative hunger for knowledge.

They were both far too much his sons than Odin admitted to anyone. He had punished them both, in their own way, to test their resolve and their mettle. He had stood by, both commanding them to do things he knew they did not wish to do, and waited for the time when they would crack and gain the fury that can only come when fighting for what one truly believes rather than what another tells you is right. They had found themselves, breaking free of Odin’s large shadow and cast their own light against the threads of fate.

Often he had travelled to the  Nornir,  or Norns as many called them , and sought the threads of his sons’ fates. He was too curious not to desire such knowledge. Where once the threads had been dull and loosely constructed in a pale reflection of their father’s, now Thor’s thread glistened with the hardened resolve of his own making. Loki’s thread had always been twisted and curving, denying all contact with others save the times it brushed against Thor’s. Even when Odin had forced marriage upon him, his thread shunned Sigyn’s and those of their children, as if his very fate refused to bless the union he was forced to consummate. Now, however, Loki’s thread was no longer twisted and curving. It was entwined with a reddish gold shimmering fibre of his mate’s. Their combined fibres were so tightly bound, they had become one. Sigyn’s, on the other hand, had shrunk and shriveled in the dullness of obscurity. 

Her children’s threads had long since been cut, unable to fight the curse that had turned one into a wolf and the other to die by his brother’s fangs and claws. Her once shining thread, full of pride and entitlement, was now frazzled and  gnarled. 

Odin had eyed the transformed thread of Loki and his mate. It shone brightly now amongst the other threads, and the Norns had gently caressed it, soothed it, and whispered to themselves.  They had  pulled it from the mass and cooed over it, stroking its fibres with their fingers before placing it back.

“It is beyond you now, Odin, son of Bör,” they had said united in a sing-song voice.

“Beyond us.”

“Beyond you.”

“Look but don’t touch.”

“Cannot influence.”

“Cannot change.”

“Can only look.”

“Can only read.”

“Caress.”

“Admire.”

“Strand of a God.”

“Strand of the conqueror.”

“Ruler.”

“Sovereign.”

Odin had frowned. “So he will seek the throne again?”

The three Norn sisters had laughed, bell-like, in the empty air.

“He does not need your throne, Odin, son of Bör,”  they had chimed together.

“He sits.”

“Upon his own throne.”

“Own throne. Yes.”

The Norns had laughed eerily as their forms faded into the Well of Urd at the foot of the Yggdrasil.  

“Treat your grandchildren well, Odin, son of Bör.”

“Treat them better.”

“Better than your sons.”

Chuckling filled the air.

“Their parents are merciless.”

“Merciless.”

“Far more merciless--”

“Than you.”

“By your own making.”

“Own making.”

“Reap.”

“Reap what you have sown.”

“All-father.”

“Odin, son of Bör.”

The chuckling, overlapping, ethereal voices had faded, leaving Odin alone under the World Tree.

The  Nornir were always fickle. They gave their knowledge both freely and hidden within riddles inside riddles. Often it was hard to tell when it was exactly what they said or if it was a riddle. Odin had always taken what they said with a grain of salt, but this time, he felt that they were giving him a warning in as blunt a way as the Norns were capable of. 

They had also given him a moral of the story: be careful how one treats your children, lest they grow up and become you — or better yet, surpass you. If they surpass you, pray you were kind to them.

Odin, son of Bör, walked the path back to Ásgarðr alone, deep within his own thoughts.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-

“Loki, what are we going to do with an adult, fully grown basilisk?” Hermione asked as she hung the laundry. Her magic was sorting the laundry on the line by colour, giving the line a rainbow look.

“You ask this now?” Loki asked, watching as Basil  snatched a sparrow out of the air as he lurked on the scarecrow. It gave an entirely new meaning to guarding your garden. “He’s practically family now. The twins would cry if he were to be relocated to some… basilisk preserve, if there is such a thing.”

“Not sure if there is one,” Hermione chuckled. “They are notoriously hard to keep out of trouble, usually, given their propensity to kill or petrify things first and ask questions later.”

“He is a cute blighter,” Loki admitted, watching Basil make the sparrow disappear. 

“I’m sure there are many who would disagree,” Hermione laughed. “If Harry were here, he’d say I was off my gourd. The Department for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures classify them as XXXXX creatures.”

“Known  wizard killer, hrm?” Loki recalled. “Cannot be domesticated.”

Basil snatched another oblivious house sparrow out of the air.

“To be fair, Loki,” Hermione mused,  pinning the sheets to the laundry line,  “most do not survive long enough in their quest to raise a wizard killing species to attempt domestication.”

“Your old Wizarding friend, Hagrid, yes?” Loki asked. “Wasn’t he responsible for an infestation of giant spiders in the woods near your old school?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “He believed everything beastly was just misunderstood. He never changed his opinion, even he won a Nundu cub at the Hog’s Head Tavern. He cried when the Department of Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures came in with a team of no less than a hundred witches and wizards to subdue the beast relocate it. Well, they said they relocated it.”

“Aren’t those,” Loki recalled, “giant leopards that breathe disease?”

Hermione sighed. “Yes.” 

“Thor and I asked for pets often as children,” Loki recalled. “I  don’t think we ever asked for pets that could kill off a small village in one go.”

“Hagrid was a  good friend when we desperately needed one,” Hermione explained, “but it was the very compassion and love for the misunderstood that made him such a staunch friend.”

“Even though he endangered your lives as often as he saved you?” Loki asked, eyebrow raised.

“Even then,” Hermione admitted.

“He would have loved mother’s carnivorous fountain fish,”  Loki mused.

“Probably,” Hermione snorted. 

“What happened to him?” Loki asked curiously.

Hermione’s eyes grew hazy.  “When I retired as Headmistress of Hogwarts, I stayed in contact with him by owl for quite a few years until I realised that I pushing as many years as Albus Dumbledore, and he was one of the few that would have remembered my real birthday. I let him think I died out travelling the world.”

“Why not tell him your secret?” Loki asked. 

Hermione smiled sadly. “Hagrid was many things and a loyal friend, but he was pants at keeping a secret. Had I told him, half the Wizarding World would have been hunting for me and my fountain of youth by morning or worse, tried to come up with their own Philosopher’s Stone and cast themselves to the fires in attempt to recreate what had been done to me.”

Loki pulled Hermione to him, tucking her head under his chin in silent support. “Do you worry that someone will recognise you and your past now that you are,” he paused in mid-thought with a mutter,  “slightly more conspicuous?”

Hermione chuckled. “You mean mated to a God?”

“Seeing as you are now,” Loki purred, “a Goddess.”

“A witch,”  Hermione answered,  “just extremely difficult to kill.”

Loki pressed his lips to hers, taking her breath away. “You keep telling yourself that, my Lady, my Goddess,” he purred into her mouth. 

“I’m not—” Hermione started to say.

Loki cut her off by pressing his finger to her lips. “Do not make me marry you to make it official.”

Hermione sputtered. “So you can divorce me the moment I  wear jeans and your shirt? No, thank you.” She scoffed, turning her head away so she did  not have to look at his pouting face.

“Damn the old customs,” Loki said. “We can arrive with you in the suit and I will wear the dress.”

Hermione stood in silence, jaw half dropped. She worked it up and down soundlessly as a hundred different responses got lost in translation.

Loki’s eyes bled crimson as he pressed his cobalt lips to hers, taking advantage of her half open mouth. “Say yes,” he purred into her mouth, his breath causing her eyes to glaze over.

A soft murmur came from Hermione’s mouth that may or may not have been a whine.

“Yesssss?” Loki coaxed, the tips of his fingers seeking the soft skin on the back of her neck. His teeth very tenderly nipped her lips.

“Eeeeeuuug,” Hermione whimpered.

Loki ran his cheek against the side of her face, closing his eyes as the tingle of their magic rippled in combination to their physical touch. The magic danced across their skin and down their spines. When he opened his eyes, he looked down into Hermione’s, watching in pleasure as blue fire enveloped her irises and swallowed up both of her eyes. “Hrmmm?”  he breathed against her ear.

“Yessss,” Hermione hissed her reply, crushing her lips to his with a hungry growl.

“My goddess,” he purred his reply as the basket of nearby laundry went completely forgotten. His hands pressed to both sides of her face as he stared into her. Her hair framed her face like flames, cast into brilliance by the sun behind her. “My Queen.”

He worshipped her until every word of denial Hermione ever had was conveniently obliviated from her mind. 

The next morning, the Italian news was alive with chatter that the  Torre pendente di Pisa had become the  Torre di Pisa . The infamous leaning bell tower had somehow righted itself during the night and was filled with about a hundred nesting dodo birds that had made a miraculous return from extinction.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The shadowy feline-canine “things” need a name. Something pronounceable and repeatable in polite conversation. LOL. If you have any ideas, feel free to comment them. 
> 
> Cogs sounds like gears. Fogs would work… Calines? Fenines? Sigh… this could go on for days.
> 
> meldz: I didn’t raise Atlantis, but I did bring back your dodo birds and fixed your tower *hehehe*


	8. This is Why We Can't Have Nice Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione finally decides on a name to call the shadowy "things."  
> Thor plays fetch with the shadows, and the shadows bring him back... stuff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Almost to the “wedding.” Almost!
> 
> Beta love: fluffpanda

Chapter 8:  This is Why We Can’t Have Nice Things

“I have a baby basilisk,” sung Friðr.

“And he’s green and black today!” answered George.

“He has his own cool sunglasses—”

“And he wears them every day!”

Hermione raised a brow as the twins took it upon themselves to sing themselves around the cottage in their excitement over the upcoming “wedding.” 

Loki kept trying to soothe her nerves, telling her that the wedding was still a long ways off. Ásgarðian weddings apparently took years to plan, and his mother had volunteered to do the majority of the work. Mix in the growing guest list of people, beings, creatures, gods, and aliens that were going to be invited, Hermione’s mind was stuck in a state of perpetual panic to make up for all the years she had never had to worry about a wedding for herself in any regard.

She had helped Ginny a little with her wedding before Molly took the reins and drove off anyone who dared get in her way, so Ginny had thrown up her hands and let her, and Hermione had secretly, gratefully said a prayer of thanks to whatever gods were watching over her at the time.

When Hermione had taken a look at the long list of tasks Frigga was looking over for the wedding, her eyes practically rolled back into her head. It was far, far worse than  anything the Malfoys could have come up with when Draco married Astoria. To be fair, however, Draco wasn’t trying to create a  guest list of entities that spanned universes either, not that the mental image of Draco trying to not offend a few hundred pantheons and a few hundred more species didn’t amuse her greatly.

One species, apparently, despised colour, so the entire area had to be enchanted to appear in dull greys for them. Another species believed that no wedding was proper unless everything was dayglow orange, so it had to be enchanted to appear that way for them. Another required a large saltwater swimming area, another needed freshwater, a few species needed an area akin to the vacuum of space, and the list went and on. 

Much to Hermione’s relief, Frigga seemed to have it all in hand and even seemed quite excited over it. Hermione was harder to convince that excited was the right word to describe how she should be feeling. If anything, it was amusing to watch Odin stay out of the way of his wife’s fussing, seemingly acknowledging that his wife was on a mission and he had no say whatsoever in it.  All-Father? Yes. All-Mother he was not. Whether there was such a title, Hermione wasn’t sure, but if there was one, Frigga was definitely the one most likely to wear it.

The twins, however, were excited at the opportunity to meet so many new people, and unlike their parents, fully wished to meet, greet, and hug everyone. It was probably for the best in Hermione’s mind because she didn’t really consider herself the budding socialite. The twins could charm the warts off a toad, and Hermione blamed Loki’s silver tongue and a few thousand years of practice as reasons for her twin sons proclivity to charm and mischief..  naming them after Fred and George probably didn’t help either.

Friðr and George, however, were loving sons, and they, much like their namesakes, always knew how to make dire situations more tolerable and bring a smile to the faces of those they cared about. Their tight bond to each other reminded her so much of the Weasley twins, and their loyalty to their family was even more the reminder. Not even to their eleventh year, they were highly intelligent, sensitive to magic, highly skilled in feats of distraction, and more than prepared for life at Hogwarts. They were so ready for Hogwarts that Hermione considered sending an anonymous letter to the Headmaster to warn them of what to expect— almost. A part of her secretly wanted to shapeshift an owl and watch the mischief they had tried and failed to pull on their parents work on the poor students and faculty of Hogwarts.

Fenrisúlfr dutifully guarded them like his own pups, and the feline-canine creatures actually kept them in line far more effectively than any babysitter she could have hired. Perhaps it was the fact the creatures had been around too long to have the wool pulled over their eyes by  someone less than a decade old, but it wasn’t that the twins didn’t try. One of the first lessons they learned involving the shadowy creatures that flanked their parents at all times was that they couldn’t trap them,  mislead them, or bribe them to look the other way.

As if sensing her thinking of them, a few of the feline-canine creatures materialised around her, rubbing their wispy bodies against her with a soft purring growl. Black, tar-like drool dripped from their jaws and seemed to evaporate before hitting the ground.  The moment they touched her, she felt shiver of pleasure and completeness and knew that they felt the same.  It was no wonder to her that the creatures would do anything to keep such a bond, and it made her wonder what previous God would have cast them aside like second-hand tools. As much as she had once championed the House-elf rights even when the elves themselves basically told her they lived to serve, she had never truly believed it. She believed them brainwashed or victims of centuries-old Wizarding Stockholm Syndrome, but these creatures truly lived to serve. They hungered for it, craved to be useful, and experienced a sort of keening  pain at the very thought of being abandoned.

The fact they had been abandoned once made them even more fanatical about reading her and Loki’s every movement, mood, and need. They basked in their contentment, touch, and praise  with the fervour of a cat in a sun-beam. She found she could no more deny them their desire than they could disobey her. At last, countless centuries later,  Hermione Granger admitted that some creatures truly did live to serve. She was still on the fence about the House-elves, though.

Hermione was at least glad that the twins didn’t take after her stubborn learning habits when it came to potty training. There were only so many points  Severus could have docked from her for being an utter failure as a parent.

‘ I heard that ,’  Severus cawed into her mind. 

Hermione chuckled, rubbing the raven under his chin and over his back, massaging his wings in just the way he adored being fussed over. Severus Snape the wizard may have had the fifty kilometer personal space rule, but Severus the raven was perfectly content to love up the attention. He rarely left her side, and often Severus would snuggle up between Loki and Hermione as they slept, nestled in their combined and intertwined hair. 

“We really should come up with something to call these guys that is pronounceable without sounding like I’ve got a dragon stuck in my throat,” Hermione mused, her hand sliding across one of the larger canine-felines that never went far from her side.

The twins had come up with all sorts of silly names to call them, and they called them something different every month. The shadow creatures showed no particular inclination to any of the names, and Hermione and Loki had speculated that in the time of their creation, they had no names but had instead a sense of identity which was their name. Names were a flash of insight, personality, or a trait mixed in with a visual or sound. It wasn’t something you could easily translate into a traditional sense of a name. It was more. 

On the list of names the twins had used ranged from shadowgats, Barghests (after the spirit dogs of England,) shadowlings, foglets, föregångare (which she blamed on their finding a book of interesting words,) pernoctis (again sneaking her Latin books out of library,) grimalkins, fenines, and all manner of names in between. One time they just made an odd barking sound as a name, and the next week it was a meow. Hermione supposed she could just let them perpetually make things up until it grew tiresome, but she honestly didn’t believe her sons would ever grow tired of it. They couldn’t, as much as they tried, say the creature’s ancient growling name. They had spent hours one night pestering Loki to say the name over and over to no avail. Nothing they did could wrap their vocal chords around the strange snarling, growling, whisper that was their name. Both Friðr and  George had complained bitterly that it wasn’t fair that Hermione and Loki could say it and they couldn’t. Loki had pointed out that life was hardly fair, and they could petition him to change his mind when they had lived as long as he had.

“But, father,” Friðr had whined. “You’ll always be older than us." 

Loki's answering grin had been smug as well as proud that his sons already knew that there were some things they would likely never equal against their father, as much as they might try. They would continue to try, Hermione knew, doing honour to their namesakes with every breath.

Part of Hermione wondered if Molly had her hands full when the original twins were born. Molly never struck her as being one who couldn’t handle her children, even children as frustrating and loveable as Fred and George. Considering she had Charlie, Bill, and Percy before them, the twins must have turned the house arse over tit as Sirius had been known to say. He had also been brained by Molly’s frying pan shortly after saying “such things in front of the children.” It was a miracle the man hadn’t been brain-damaged.

‘ He was, believe me ,’ Severus quipped into her mind, causing Hermione to snort. She responded as always by cuddling the raven mercilessly, making him rawk and squirm in her arms before admitted defeat and cuddling under her chin. 

A few of the shadow-creatures materialised and rubbed up against her, moving through her in a way that seemed far more intimate than a normal hug, yet part of her knew it was their way of reassuring themselves of their bond as well as reinforcing it. They did it to both she and Loki as often as they came and went. They did it the twins 

“What am I going to call you, hrm?” she asked the larger of the group. He yawned toothily and took to grasping her hand in his mouth— a habit learned from their compatriot, Fenrisúlfr.

He placed his head over her belly and stared at her face, wiggling against her when she stopped petting his ears. She had the sense of identity from him which made up his sense of name. “You are Waghya,” Hermione said softly, “named after one whose loyalty to Shivaji is legend, even when the story changes and shifts around the moral.”

Waghya stared at her, wisps of smoke-like vapour flicked around his body. 

The story of Waghya reminded Hermione of another dog known for his undying loyalty. Hachiko, the Akita who waited faithfully for his master to return to the train station every evening, kept his vigil long after his master’s death. Hachi was the Japanese word for eight, which was considered lucky. Turn eight on its side and it became infinite. Hermione smiled. Perfect.

“Hachi it is then,” Hermione mused. 

‘You named an entire ancient, primordial race of creatures  eight ?’ Severus asked.

“Yes,” Hermione snorted. “Have something to complain?”

The raven next to her head  preened her hair by her ear. ‘ Oh, nothing .’

Hermione snickered, rubbing the raven under his chin. He puffed out his feathers in a sign of pleasure, making himself look like a puffball.

Giggles and laughter caused Hermione to lift her head and  smile as her children chased Basil around the pool. The basilisk was leading them on a merry chase around the pool until Basil won the game by using Friðr as a sunning perch. The young basilisk curled himself up on Friðr’s stomach as the boy lay on his back in the water.  Despite showing no signs of being Parselmouths, the boys didn’t seem to need it to communicate with the young serpent. She was fairly certain Basil was learning the Queen’s English through constant exposure, which amused her. 

Despite the fact that Basil’s full grown size would undoubtedly be gargantuan and intimidating, he was still, at least, young and arguably portable for the moment. The time was soon coming when portable would be much harder without magical intervention. The invasive species population had been brought to its knees in Scotland in less than a year thanks to one hungry, growing, baby basilisk. 

Despite their whining and pleading, Hermione sternly did not allow them to take Basil to show-and-tell during the first years of school pre-Hogwarts. The last thing she wanted was Muggles getting their first “show”of a real basilisk or, gods forbid, the Department of Regulation of Magical Creatures getting wind of it thanks to the plethora of cell-phone cameras that infested the world.

More preternatural creatures, mutants, superheroes, and villains had given up the entire anonymous identity because of the not so humble cell-phone camera. There were baby cams, nanny cams, spy-on-your-cheating-spouse cams, dash cams, spot-a-flying-superhero cams, and all sorts of hybrids in between. The date cam amused Hermione. If her parents had ever put one of those on her collar when she was going through her Second Wizarding War phase, they would probably have had a heart attack. Arguably, perhaps they should have. Maybe then they would have believed her when she told them she had Obliviated them to save their life. Privately, Hermione was glad that her formal armour obscured her from cameras, recordings, and other such annoyances as though she were the Loch Ness Monster or aliens come to earth to abduct cows. To be fair, she supposed, aliens were visiting earth quite frequently, but they weren’t abducting cows.

Then again, as a parent herself, she realised that nothing ever prepared you for the ups and downs of seeing your child take their first fall or narrowly miss death for the first time. That first time was their narrowly missing getting bitten by a sleepy and utterly cranky, over-tired baby basilisk who wasn’t in his right mind when the twins had thought it a great idea to just grab him and drag him off to the yard.

Ground rules had changed immediately after that. Basil slept in the parental bedroom when he wanted sleep, and even the twins knew better than to invade that particular space.

Basil was, perhaps thanks to both nature and nurture, a very pleasant serpent, and he had become quite the socialite in the family when he wasn’t perched in the garden snatching sparrows out of the air. The almost envenomating her sons hadn’t really been his fault, and he had managed to pull his strike just in time. Basil seemed to understand what a near miss that had been, and spend the next month refusing to uncoil from Hermione’s neck lest his fangs get him into unforeseen trouble without his permission.

Hermione had insisted that the twins experience Muggle schooling for the first few years of their schooling career before they were old enough to go to Hogwarts. It was partially so they learned to be social with “normal” people and partially so they had something to balance all the magic and Ásgarðian lessons they had ingrained into their minds since they shot out of the womb. It was also partially so the twins learned proper English writing, basic grammar, legible handwriting,  and enough mathematics to make Crabbe and Goyle’s heads spin off back in the day.  Countless horribly written essays had plagued Hermione’s teaching career and Severus had a one-up story to match every horrible one she could remember. No child of hers was going to be “one of those wizards” who couldn’t tell the difference between desert and dessert on parchment. Severus wasn’t going to let the twins get away with lazy potioneering either. Come hell or high water, the twins would know potion basics before they even picked up a wand. 

Thanks to the help of Dr Strange, his fellows, Frigga, and their parents, the twins had more than enough exposure to different kinds of magic, both with and without wands. Loki had agreed that it would be good that they learned magic the way she had back in the day to have a better respect for their roots. Hermione had rewarded him with special smile at his consideration.

Loki took to transporting the children to school every morning, and  Hermione picked them up, porting to the outskirts of the nearby village and walking their children in like “normal” people. The both of them found a strange irony in how mundane and normal it seemed. Mr and Mrs Solberg even charmed the teachers during the inevitable parent-teacher conferences that plagued Muggle grade-school, though the teachers did question whether Friðr and George ‘really had a wolf they called  brother ’ back home. Loki smoothly explained that they were caretakers to an extensive wildlife preserve and that the twins believed quite a few  ‘animals’ were their siblings.

The teachers had laughed, believing that the young measured their family in unique ways, and Hermione and Loki channeled a moment of mad eye-twinkling that would have made Albus Dumbledore proud.

Hermione was confident in that her children would not have the horrible problem with social skills that she had had her first year at Hogwarts, and she was very glad for that. It wasn’t that she hadn’t turned out okay in the end, but she would also prefer her children to not be fighting a war against a Dark Lord while growing up, either. Social skills seemed like a nice, obtainable goal.

Loki had confessed that the last thing he wanted was his children to have the social skills of Thor when he fell from Ásgarðr and met Jane Foster. After hearing the multiple embarrassing stories, Hermione tended to agree. Hermione had pointed out that he had, at least, met the love of his life at the time, so at least it wasn’t a total failure.

“My first meeting with the great Jane Foster was unforgettable,” Loki had confessed on one afternoon as the twins were trying to make a lemonade stand where all of various lemon and limeades were named after serpent venoms. They were entrepreneurially attempting to sell their wares to the passing Ásgarðians. 

“Oh?” Hermione had answered, expecting, perhaps, an epic story.

“She stormed up to me and punched me in the face,” Loki had replied.

Hermione’s face had twisted into a grin. “You and Malfoy would have commiserated together.”

“However do you mean?” Loki had asked, eyebrow lifting.

“I punched him in the face one year,” Hermione had confessed.

“Did he try to subjugate an entire city?” Loki had asked, truly curious if he had been outdone by a teenage wizard.

“He was a lousy, arrogant, entitled git,” Hermione had grunted a reply.

Loki’s lips had pressed against her temple as he chuckled. “Did he deserve it?”

“Deserve what?”

“The punch to the face.”

“Undoubtedly,” Hermione had sighed.

Loki had grinned at her. “So too, had I, my Lady.”

Hermione snorted as she recalled the conversation. There was a slithering sensation across her nose, and she opened her eyes to realise that Basil had retreated from playing twins to nestle in the shared space with Ouroboros and the nameless serpent from the ancient caverns. Why he had decided to use her face as a freeway, Hermione wasn’t sure.

“Severus,” Hermione mumbled drowsily. “How is it that I somehow ended up a snake magnet?”

The raven nestled against her head made a corvid version of a purr and yawned beakily into her ear. ‘ About time you saw the wisdom of the proper House ,’ he answered smugly.

Hermione snorted. “Even back in the day, even if had been sorted into Slytherin, had I come in speaking to snakes, I would have been branded a freak,” she said sadly. She paused, realising something. “How do I—?”

‘ With all the things that have happened to you since Potter tried to take over the world with peace and Quidditch, you are going to quibble over how you can speak to snakes? ’ Severus rapped the bottom of his beak over her head a few times.

“Ow, I yield. I yield!” Hermione grabbed the raven and embraced him mercilessly, hugging the corvid and snuggling into his feathers.

Severus made a mental choking noise. ‘ Mercy! Abuse! Mad Witch Sorceress Goddess abuse! ’

Hermione busted up with laughter and then flopped backwards against the grass. “I’m not sure how I’m going to handle a wedding.”

Severus snorted, the sound making an odd sneeze coming from a raven’s beak. ‘ Show up, say the words of choice, and eat cake.’

Hermione chuckled. ‘Those are my words of wisdom, Severus?’

‘ With all that has happened, don’t you think quibbling over a formality such as a wedding is a bit— ’ Severus trailed off.

“Late?” Hermione suggested.

‘ Anti-climactic ?’ Severus finished.

Hermione sighed, closing her eyes. Basil toothily chomped on her ear to get her attention, and she shifted her neck as to not pin him against the ground with her head. The other serpent from the centre of the world yawned in her opposing ear, serving as a strange living pillow for her head. “It’s my first wedding, Severus,” Hermione noted. “Give me a little slack for not knowing what to expect. What good is this vast accumulation of knowledge at my fingertips when I’ve never experienced it myself before?” Hermione tapped her head with her fingertip and sighed.

If a raven could raise an eyebrow, Severus was trying really hard to find out. “I doubt anyone born of Earth is truly ready for something as vast as what Frigga is arranging for you. In any lifetime.”

Hermione grunted in agreement. “Knowing my luck, halfway during the ceremony, the next incumbent Dark Lord will rise from the wedding cake and try to subjugate the masses. There will be brawls, cake will be everywhere, mead will be overflowing, and it will all end with Thor passed out with the Warriors Three while I sit with Sif eating something unpronounceable in eight out of nine Realms.”

“Don’t forget me,  min älskling ,” Loki chuckled as he appeared beside her, laying in the grass as though he had been there the entire time.

“Right,” Hermione corrected. “You will be sitting atop the pile of bodies, polishing your rhetoric.”

Loki’s grin spread across his face. “I will be, indeed.”

“Do you think your parents will be upset if I invite a few of the Goblin Nation to the wedding, Loki?” Hermione asked nervously.

“My dear,” Loki said with a grunt. “You could invite the entire species of House-elves to our wedding and I’m sure mother would not mind.”

“Oh, no, I couldn’t,” Hermione blurted. “They’d want to serve everyone, and I’d insist they enjoy themselves. They would want to serve everyone to be happy, and I’d—”

Severus clunked his beak against her head.

Loki pressed his index finger to her lips, pressing his fingertip to the notch under her nose. His shoulders quaked with silent laughter.

“I walked right into that didn’t I?” Hermione let out her breath slowly.

“Mmhmm,” Loki replied with a nod.

“Untold years later,” Hermione breathed slowly, rubbing her space between the eyes, “and I’m still touchy about bloody House-elves.”

“I blame your imprint of ‘self’ back when you were first being torn to pieces and remade,” Loki said with a half grin.

Hermione rolled her eyes tiredly. “All my flaws.”

Loki tilted his head and shook it at her, running his thumb against her cheek. “And your perfections… and the one thing that will keep many of those who attempt to decipher us guessing.”

“What would that be?” Hermione asked curiously.

Loki’s eyes bled into crimson as he descended upon her mouth with his. He pulled back with a soft, low growl that was so deep it vibrated against her lips. “We… evolve,” he rumbled, his eyes looking deep within hers. “Chaos.”

“Unto Order,” Hermione answered.

“Rage,” Loki whispered darkly.

“Unto Calm,” she replied, tracing her index finger along the line of Loki’s jaw. She gazed into his eyes with a warmth that spread over to his skin. “What am I going to do with you?” she asked softly.

“I could think of a few things,” Loki commented, raising his brow suggestively.

‘ Marriage first, please ,’ Severus complained from her shoulder. Basil, in his utter cuteness, had wrapped himself around Severus in a serpent hug, resting his head over Severus’. He nodded his head decisively, his little red feather bobbing as if to punctuate.

Loki pressed his fingers to his throat, eyes widening. “Why ever for?” he gasped. His grin spread across his face. “It never stopped us before.”

Hermione’s face went crimson as it began to rain strangely bouncy avocados.

Loki smiled, holding out his hand to catch one of the falling avocados. “Miðgarðr should thank us,  min älskling ,” he purred. “Look at all of the world hunger we solve just by being together.”

The avocados were joined by Roma tomatoes, a smattering of garlic cloves, and an occasional lemon. Hermione was still blushing, crossing her arms in front of her body as if to shield herself from embarrassment. She lifted her head to watch the twins riding around on Fenrisúlfr as they had nets to gather the falling avocados, tomatoes, and random produce.

Loki’s expression was mischievous. “Well, at least we won’t be short guacamole for the reception,” he said with a smug smile. “See? One less stress for mother to fret over.”

Hermione repeatedly beat her head against his sternum.

Loki brushed her hair back from her face. “We are one until all the stars burn out,  min älskling,”  he said softly. “You need not worry that once it is official that I turn the way of Zeus.”

Hermione smiled somewhat sadly. “He turned himself into many different animals to charm his mortal paramours.”

Loki’s face darkened at the thought. “This is no marriage of obligation, beloved. It is not a fancy that will burn out when it ceases to be amusing. This is a marriage so others may know what we have already known,” he said solemnly. “We are already one. We are already bound. Let the other beings of the Realms think what they will. Let them enjoy their fancies and hypocritical promises of loyalty. May they all cower in the heat and shadows of our fire.”

Hermione pressed her head against his chest and smiled, feeling the bond between their magic thrum in response. It was no longer a matter of his magic or hers anymore. Their magic had known the truth long before their minds had accepted it. She had to confess to herself that Loki did have a way with words.

“Relax,  min älskling, ” Loki purred. “It takes years to plan a wedding in Ásgarðr, and my mother will gleefully handle all of it just to keep All-Father out her hair for a few years.”

“He wants nothing to do with it?” Hermione asked, eyebrow raised.

“Nay, my Lady,” Loki said with a grin. “It is not because he doesn’t like to meddle. He simply knows better than to mess with what Frigga wants at a time like this.”

“Can they not compromise?” Hermione asked, aghast.

Loki shook his head. “The last time they ‘compromised’, I was married off to Sigyn against my will and Thor was cast out of Ásgarðr to learn ‘humility’.”

Hermione flinched. “Oh.”

“It is the way of gods,” Loki asked. “At least the ones of Ásgarðr.”

Hermione touched her temple with her fingers. Surges of knowledge some often come and go. Insight that she didn’t remember studying, but it would come to her more often now. She could run into a person on the street and know what sins they had committed, what hardships they had suffered, but also their more noble moments. She had thought that such things would make her more sympathetic to their plight, but it had done much the opposite. In knowing all that was to know about someone, she had become more impartial, less emotional, and an odd combination of compassionate and indifferent.

Loki had said it was the way of the divine and the reason that the most successful Gods and Goddesses had “chosen” across the many worlds. Such people, seen as visionaries, artists, or shamans in their native climate, served as a conduit to the divine eye and remember what it was like to live life as someone mortal and fleeting. There were many ancient deities spanning even more ancient places and people. Far more of them existed above the Æsir and Asynjur in the way that the Ásgarðr were above Miðgarðr and the other Realms.

Hermione and Loki had taken the next step in a mutual evolution and Ascended into Godhood. Unlike those who had been plucked from mortal stock and made into gods by Gaea to represent the best that humanity had to offer, Hermione and Loki had combined their essences together and become their own power. They owed nothing to another power as the foundation of their own. Death had, in its own way, given its blessing to the evolution by the bestowal of its Mark. The difference, however, between Loki and Hermione and many of the pantheons such as the Æsir and Asynjur was that Loki and Hermione’s Domain was not anchored in the Realms. Their Domains, much like their ultimate Master, Death, was outside of time and space.

None of this, however, affected Hermione. Knowing an unnerving amount of information wasn’t exactly new to her in any way.  Her focus, at least for the time being, was the raising of the twins to be “as normal as possible.” It was not to say she denied them their magic or their heritage, but she wanted them to live their life and be true to it. She wanted them to enjoy their childhood— something she had been denied in her first, mortal life. 

Her greatest gift to her children would the freedom of choice. They could choose what life they wished to live: mortal, immortal of Ásgarðr, or something of their own making. Regardless of what it was they chose, she would strive to  teach them enough to make an educated decision when the time came.

Choosing the path of wizard was hardly a horrible life. If they did choose the way of Iðunn’s apples then it would be an unaging life until the time when they lost it to whatever hazards could kill one of the Ásgarðr.  Mortals were given the gift of choose to come back in another life, but those that partook of Inðunn’s apples chose the path of perpetual youth on the condition that if and when they died, their return could only be during Ragnarök— barring, of course, certain powerful and utterly random Chaos Magick that had somehow brought Frigga back to life.  There were loopholes. None of them were easily reproduced, however. Chaos Magick was, well, chaotic for a reason.

Loki brought her out of her mental musings by attaching to her neck like a suckerfish on an algae-covered boulder.

Hermione groaned softly, hooking her around his hair and pulling him closer.

‘ If you are going to do quality snogging, ’ Severus quipped from her shoulder, ‘ I will go take the twins to see their Uncle Thor and set them loose them up on him while I watch the fireworks from a safe distance.’

Hermione flushed as Loki’s mouth covered up her verbal protest. Severus launched off of her shoulder, carrying Basil with him to protect the young basilisk’s delicate sensibilities. A surge of more embarrassment rose up inside her as Severus left her and Loki alone but was quickly forgotten as Loki gave her many more unrelated things to think about.

Some time later, the radio-chatter of many ships travelling the Atlantic were alive with panicked calls as their vessels crashed into the lost continent of Atlantis from various sides.

As the twins sat with their Uncles Thor and Severus under the watchful eye of Odin, Odin’s throne was suddenly beset with the cutest Smilodon kittens in history. Both twins squealed with delight as they scooped one up each and cuddled them mercilessly.

Friðr eyed George. “Do you think this means we’ll have a baby brother or sister soon?” Friðr asked.

George eyed the purple Smilodon kitten nearby who was sporting a pink mohawk. “Definitely a sister, brother.”

Nearby, the sound of Severus smacking his wing to his face echoed over the sound of mewling baby Smilodon kittens.

Down on Miðgarðr, one happy Fenrisúlfr was rolling in the freshly fallen snow, his tail beating against the ground in amusement. Things just kept getting better!

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Thor landed off the Bifröst in a circular part of the garden that had come to be known as Thor’s Hammer by the twins. They had commented on the sound the Bifröst made when it “set him down” or “carried him away” as akin to the sound of Mjölnir being smashed into something. Thor had found it amusing, so he didn’t argue the point.

He stepped out of the circle and shaded his eyes. The sun was glistening off the drifts of snow. Heimdall had said that the Sleep had taken his brother and his mate, and it seemed he was correct as usual. The entire yard wasn’t buried in snow, but the house and part of the yard was, making it appear as though an avalanche had taken the property by surprise.

Thor really didn’t see his brother’s slumber as much of a surprise after having dealt with the rising of the lost continent of Atlantis from his brother’s last coupling with his mate. If there was any doubt to his brother’s Domain of both Chaos and Mischief, spending half a year trying to soothe out the territorial disputes and diplomacy of a once sunken, risen civilization had brought on uncontested measures of both chaos and mischief.

It had taken every bit of smooth talking and his influence as one of the few Gods the Atlantian people remembered positively to keep Atlantis from making war on other countries due to their “exploitation of the sea’s  bounty” and “pollution of Gaea’s living waters.” Why Thor? Thor was one of the few  gods that actively took an interest in Miðgarðian affairs and was known by various nations as being “actively benevolent.” Loki, despite his silver tongue, was not a God known for his helpfulness, and Thor knew better than to ask him to ‘behave.’ The end result of the entire mess was frantic scrambling by various nations to literally clean up their acts involving the ocean before Atlantis took their rage out on the planet and sunk the other continents in their fury.

Arguably, the oceans hadn’t been healthier in Ages, and the endangered sea turtles were making a comeback, but Thor had to wonder if there would have been an easier method to accomplish that which didn’t involve a newly arisen Lost Continent threatening to blow your “archaic excuse for a civilization” off the planet.

Having solved that particular disaster waiting to happen, Thor was glad that the humans had chosen proper ambassadors and were now communicating with Atlantis instead of plotting ways to sink it back into the ocean. It left him free to iron out problems in the other Realms and take a little time to check in on his nephews. 

The first thing Thor noticed was that the yard was quiet, and for a house typically occupied with children, it was not a comforting realisation.  Silence may be golden, but it usually meant trouble.

He scanned the yard visually for signs of life, but nothing, save the small garden birds, seemed to be gracing the yard with their activity. He decided to check the kitchen table for a letter. Lady Hermione had always been good about leaving notes when the children were off staying at school friend’s houses and the like. She mentioned something about “adjusting the wards for him” and “making sure the doors knew him” but Thor really had no clue what she meant by that. Magic was never his forté. That had always been Loki’s shared passion with his mother.

Thor came to the front door and closed his eyes. He traced his name in runes on the door, and there was a flush of warmth and the door opened. Sighing with relief, he walked in. It wasn’t so long ago that the twins had told him he had  to trace the entire phrase “Thor and Lady Sif sitting in a tree. K-I-S-S-I-N-G,” thanks to the two aggravatingly young mischief makers. He’d ended up breaking down the door with Mjölnir and part of the wall to get in keep the twins from setting the cottage on fire and owing Lady Hermione and his brother a new door and wall.

They had made him fix the wall, doorframe, and set the new door all before dinner. Lady Hermione had, after that, keyed him personally to the wards with his own energy pattern or some sort of thing that  made much more sense when he was drunk. He found himself exceedingly happy that the door opened for him without some sort of embarrassing passphrase.

He remained so for about ten seconds before the sensation of being squeezed to death overcame him and all he could see was the sliding of many dark scales in front of his face. All he could think of was it was a little early for his confrontation with Jörmungandr during Ragnarök as his arms were pinned against him, and his head smashed into the previously abused, rebuilt, and re-abused doorframe.

If he was lucky, Jörmungandr would kill him before swallowing him. He really didn’t want to live it down that he’d been taken out by a snake.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Thor awoke with a groan, his hand going to his head just before he frantically grasped for Mjölnir. The magical hammer was still attached to his belt, his bones were not, as he expected, crushed into pieces, and as far as he could tell he had not be bitten by a giant Miðgarðr serpent with a grudge.

Jörmungandr and Thor hadn’t separated on the best of terms. Thor had watched as his father had cast the then baby serpent into the seas around Miðgarðr. Jörmungandr, much like Tyr and Fenrisúlfr, were fated to have at each other during Ragnarök. There had been a time when the serpent had been a trusting sort, much like Fenrisúlfr. It had not lasted. Odin’s determination to stave off Ragnarök had only made so many things worse. Fenrisúlfr trusted no Æsir after their betrayal, and Jörmungandr’s hatred of Thor was met only by his OCD of encircling Miðgarðr.

Why did Jörmungandr hate Thor so spitefully? Thor had been the one to bring the drowsy serpent to his father. Thor had not know, then, what Odin planned for Jörmungandr, and at the time, the two were at peace. Odin had bound the serpent with his power and cast him off Ásgarðr into the seas below. Jörmungandr had hated Thor ever since. There were times when Thor flew too close over the Miðgarðr sea, and the serpent’s giant coils would writhe out of the water as if to seek him and drag him under.  

Thor found himself half submerged in the water of the family pool. He was soaking wet, and his skin was wrinkled as though he had been sitting in a tub for too long. Twin giggles came from nearby, and Thor looked up to see Friðr and George sliding down the body of a giant snake into the pool. They used the giant serpent’s body as a slide; water trickled down the snake’s scales and glistened in the sun with iridescent hues. 

“Basil!” George whined, tugging on the giant snake’s head. “Move over a little so the water runs down your back all the way… that’s it! Thanks, Basil!”

Thor rubbed his head as the giant snake moved over, allowing the rush of water across his back. The two boys climbed up the snake’s body up to his head, and then used him as a water slide down into the pool. The snake’s giant coils took up the bottom of the pool, and the rest of him lay encircling the pool like a custom snake-shaped sandbar. 

Thor watched as “Basil” yawned, showing a number of dagger-like fangs, and lazily watched the two boys as they clambered over him and then slid back down his scales. Nearby, Fenrisúlfr watched the antics with a soft beat of his tail.

Something moved across his body, and Thor found himself being dragged into the water and dunked under the water. He sputtered and gasped as the coils moved over him, dunking him a few times, and then releasing him to sputter and swim to the side of the pool and pull himself free.

“Hi, Uncle!” Friðr exclaimed as he splashed down beside him. 

“I take it you two had to do with my braining myself on your front door?” Thor said darkly.

Friðr smiled at him disarmingly. “We just wanted you to meet Basil!”

Thor looked at the huge serpent encircling the pool and shook his head. “Is that a…  basilisk?”

“Yup!” Friðr replied happily. “He has sun-glasses to keep him from killing people.”

There was a snapping sound as Basil snapped a bird out of the air and resettled.

“Have others seen him?” Thor asked.

Friðr shook his head. “Not many people.  He normally stays around mum’s neck when there is company. She charmed one of his scales so he can always shrink down and be more portable.”

“How is it I’ve never seen,” he said, pausing, “him before?”

“Basil is a him!” George said as he landed next to them in the water with a splash. “He’s got this feather crest on his head. See it? The red feather? That’s his badge of maleness.”

“Badge of… maleness?”

The twins shook their heads in tandem.  “He’s really good at hiding in mum’s hair.”

Thor was still stuck on the “badge of maleness” in his head. Loki didn’t seem like the type to teach his kids  that sort of thing. Lady Hermione definitely wasn’t. Maybe they had odd friends and equally odd expressions?

Thor shook his head. Somethings were better off not pondered long or too closely. He scratched his head idly and watched the twins continue climbing up Basil and sliding down his back.  Why didn’t he and Loki have giant living water slides as children? That hardly seemed fair.

A shadow slipped in and out of view, solidifying in front of him. The Hachi seemed to be evaluating him. It looked younger in build than the others. The blackness wasn’t quite so solid. The shape was more gangly, reminding him more of a half-grown hunting hound from his father’s prized collection.

Loki had told him that age was sort of a strange concept for a race such as the shadowy Hachi, but Thor sensed that this one was more youthful in spirit.  As if to confirm his suspicion, the Hachi opened his jaws and dropped a small orange ball. The ball rolled up to his foot and stopped. 

Thor picked up the ball and the  Hachi dropped down onto its forelegs in a play bow. He threw the ball, sending it soaring into the air and into the distance.

The “pup” vaporized with a woof.

A few minutes later, the pup returned. The ball dropped to the ground and rolled into his boot again.

Thor chuckled, picked up the ball, and threw it again. Again, the pup vanished into thin air.

Thor continued to watch the children play, auto-piloting as he threw the ball every few minutes when the pup returned. After about an hour of it, he threw the ball into a different direction, and the pup vanished after it.

Thor frowned when he realised the pup hadn’t returned after a few minutes. Maybe it got stuck in a tree?

Thor made himself comfortable in one of the pool-side reclining chairs, content to watch his nephews having fun, trying to quell the pang of sadness that his ball-fetching friend had run off.

He was just settling into a comfortable half-doze when there was a sound of wind rushing and the crushing of metal mixed with human screams.

Thor bolted out of the chair, practically flinging it into the pool as a blue Daihatsu Terios fell to the ground so hard it practically bounced.  Two screaming adults were losing their heads in the front seats. A young child, perhaps four or five in human years, squealed in excitement and dropped a small orange ball.

The ball hit the ground and rolled until it came to a stop at Thor’s boot.

The young Hachi materialised nearby and woofed, ready to play again.

Thor closed his eyes briefly and pointed his finger at the Hachi pup. “You are a very bad… dog...creature.”

The Hachi looked at him innocently and licked his fingertips. 

The two unexpected visitors continued to lose their marbles, and their child squealed, “ball!” The child reached his arms out the window, looking as though he was going to crawl out of it.

Friðr and George came running up. “Do we have guests for dinner, Uncle?” they asked excitedly. Friðr tucked the recently portable-sized basilisk into his wet hair to hide him.

Thor rubbed the area between his eyes with resignation. This was why they couldn’t have nice things.

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	9. First  Comes Love, Then Comes Wait What?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You didn't think Loki would have a NORMAL wedding, did you?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta Love: fluffpanda, Mistress of Pasta and Iced Vanilla Latte, The Dragon and the Rose, Dutchgirl01, and Flyby Commander Shepard
> 
> A/N: After finishing up Breath of the Nundu, we now return to our irregularly scheduled God of Chaos and Goddess of Retribution

**Chapter 9: First Comes Love, Then Comes… Wait What?**

Hermione was pretty sure that at least half the universe was attending her wedding, and how they all managed to fit in the royal gardens of Ásgarðr was nothing short of a miracle unto itself. Dr Strange had mentioned something about folding time and space in some sort of dynamic, but Hermione's brain was far too busy fretting over a slew of different concerns to truly take in the details of what he was attempting to explain.

The Sorcerer Supreme seemed to find great amusement in that Hermione's vast hunger for knowledge being driven away by the frantic concerns of a wedding that wasn't even really for her or Loki's benefit as much as it was for the benefit of "everyone else." Still, he proved himself ever the caring friend he had always been, and he was one of the few that both Hermione and Loki considered both a friend and a staunch ally.

The Hachi were all excited, and someone, and Hermione had no idea who, had decorated each of the shadowy creatures with silver and green ribbon collars and a jewelled band on their tail, making the creatures look like something out of a genie story. The fact that they were, in fact, shadowy and wispy creatures with ribbons and jewelry made it all too surreal. It also limited the number of people that could have done the decorating without her knowing it.

Hermione eyed the black corvid perched on her nearby window suspiciously. Severus had his feathers fluffed out as he was preening himself, making sure all of the vanes of his feathers were neat and in line— his bird version of checking that all of his buttons were in order. "Slytherin colours, Severus?" she asked the raven with a half smile.

The raven looked at her with very well crafted halo look.

"Yeah, I'll believe you're innocent the day Friðr and George stop trying to figure out how to bribe the Hachi into looking the other way when they try to raid the cookie jar.

Severus rawked at her, his black eyes sparkling in a strange resemblance to a certain elderly wizard prone to meddling and sticking his nose into everyone's business.

Hermione sniffed and shook her head.

Twelve rare alien, exotic doves cooed softly on a branch overlooking the wedding grounds. Their colours reminded Hermione of the birds of paradise from South America. One of the alien ambassadors had released them on the grounds as a good-will gesture for the upcoming nuptials, and the small flock seemed content to perch outside her chamber window.

Frigga had insisted that they have formal quarters in the palace, despite Hermione's protest that they could just use the guest rooms when they visited. Frigga had stood firm, rationalising that both she, Loki, and the twins should have a place to call their own while they were there. They were family, she reasoned. Family did not sleep in the guest rooms.

There was a frightened squawk, and the doves flew into her open window and perched on the support beams above her. They chirped their distress from above, and Hermione looked up at them curiously.

She walked over to the window, and her eyes widened. Basil was wrapped around the tree branch. One poor dove was already half down his gullet. Hermione slapped her forehead with her palm and rubbed between her eyes. Mortification and amusement warred within her as she realised she hadn't thought to add them to the "do not eat this species" list she had trained the young basilisk to honour. Oops?

Hermione sighed and reached over to fetched the not quite so baby basilisk off the branch and silently admonished him. She wasn't angry at him because it had been her fault she hadn't told the serpent what was off limits.

Basil was a happy monster and content to mind as long as the rules were well laid out ahead of time. New requests were fine. Yelling at him for something she had not specifically forbidden was bad form. He seemed remorseful, if only because Hermione was feeling sad about the what she was going to tell the Ambassador when he came looking for his twelfth dove.

She allowed him to weave around her neck with Ouroboros and the nameless serpent that had once dripped his venom over Loki in the bowels of Miðgarðr. The ancient pair of serpents, unlike Basil, were either dormant or active, but they never left her side. They seemed content to interrogate the younger snake as to his adventures when he returned. Basil, always happy to oblige, would hiss a series of debriefings to his elders. They seemed satisfied by his sharings, and allowed him to take his place around her neck without a fuss.

The three serpents had taken into bonding to the skin of her neck, forming three woven snakes in a delicate circlet around her neck. On first glance, they appeared to be a finely wrought choker of delicate metals. Only close inspection revealed the pattern of scales were fused into her neck. Only the truly observant noticed that from time to time, one of the three snakes was missing as Basil went off on his latest adventure. Unlike traditional jewelry, the serpents seemed to always be in style, knowing exactly how to fade in or look striking as the need arose.

Loki and the nameless serpent, however, had made their peace. Loki had, self-admittedly, done very bad things to get cast into the earth and bound, and the serpent had been doing only what his Mistress had bound him to service for. The serpent had no more choice than he, and once that was out of the way and the Nameless one swore to protect Hermione with chosen loyalty, Loki dismissed the entire thing as acceptable. The dynamic of offense, forgiveness, and dismissal was still somewhat foreign to Hermione, but she had come to have her own strange ideas of forgive and forget with her longer lifespan. Holding a grudge for centuries was a horrible waste of energy. Holding a grudge for eons, well, she had better things to do.

"Tribervascant Peace Doves," a rumbling voice purred from the doorway. "They say when one dies, the entire flock mourns the loss."

Hermione lifted her head and saw the familiar shrouded figure of Death approaching. Unlike before, Death was wearing a shifting gown of neutral earthen tones. Her cloak, which had been the sort of black and took up all light and reflected nothing, was a more natural, yet royal purple. Her face, no long skull like, was a porcelain white. Her lips were painted a shimmering blue to cover the purple and blue hue she had shown during Hermione's Gauntlet. Death's eyes, no longer the shimmering silver-white of the moon, were a crystalline, but human, blue.

Death opened her hands and the dove that had met an unfortunate demise flew up to join her brethren in the rafters. Death gave her a small wink, causing Hermione to laugh.

"Thank you," Hermione said. "I was worried about how I would explain to the Ambassador what had happened to his doves."

Death chuckled. "It should be obvious with my attendance, child, however, I am not as immediately recognisable in this form. There are those attending that believe Death at a wedding is a very bad omen."

"Why do I have the feeling that there are others who believe Death is to celebrated at a wedding?" Hermione commented, her eyebrow arching into her hair.

"Hrm, probably because there are those cultures who seem to think it isn't a wedding if there isn't blood all over the happy couple by the end of the day," Death said with amusement.

"I'm sure Thor and the Warriors Three would enjoy a nice drunken brawl to a boring wedding," Hermione speculated.

"They have brought many into my domain, I will admit," Death chuckled, "you, however, in time… shall eclipse them all."

Hermione frowned.

"You will find, child," Death said, "that there are many paths to my domain. Some will be kind, some will not, and some will be justice. Many paths lead to the same place. That you are my Instrument does not make you cruel. It does not make you a murderer in the sense you are thinking."

Hermione shook her head. "I am not sure what I'm thinking. I find my perspective… changing."

"Immortality will do that," Death said with a grim smile. "Many cannot survive eternity. Their minds are locked with a mortal perspective. They focus on the things that concerned them when their time was limited. They try to cast aside regard for morality, ethics, or rules, thinking themselves too good for such things. Often, those who come into power are much like those who come into money, unsure of the ways of those who have always had it. But you—"

Death smiled, brushing her fingers across Hermione's chin. "You, my dear, have always been Magic. You have always been attuned to the Song. Your formation was written long before your body was conceived in mortal flesh. Then, one day, you were ready, and you evolved. Completely by chance, you met a lonely god, walking along the shores, and he evolved too—to be with you. You will forever be Hermione the Sorceress, mate to Loki, God of Mischief and Chaos, but that does not mean you shall be stagnant."

Hermione smiled, feeling less fretful than she started. "Thank you."

"Thank me not for random wisdom," Death chuckled. "Thank me for my wedding gift."

Hermione raised a curious brow.

"Someone has to give you away, child," Death said with a smile. She turned and kissed Severus on the feathered head. "A gift this ability to you, Witness, for being dutiful and loyal—for sometimes, it is best to have hands."

Death smiled and turned , sweeping the room in the much the same manner as Severus once did when he was living his previous life.

Suddenly, Severus was standing, human, dressed in his oh-so-familiar black robes. He looked utterly baffled.

Hermione stared at him, her eyes filled with emotion.

Severus looked at her, his arms outstretched in an almost apologetic gesture.

Hermione slammed into him, pressing cheek to his chest and surrounding him in a hug. "Severus," she whispered.

His pale hand stroked her hair. "At least you will not have to explain to your wedding guests why you wanted to be given away by a bird."

Hermione snorted into his black robes. "I'm glad you're here."

The old potion master gave a subtle smile. "I am glad to be here. Today, of all days."

"Let's hope Voldemort doesn't burst through my wedding cake and start a war during the party," Hermione said with a dry smile.

Severus brushed her chin with his fingers. "I'll peck out his eyes in your name."

Hermione tilted back her head and laughed. "Help me with this zipper, please?"

Severus smiled. "Are you a witch or are you not, Hermione?"

"It's my wedding, Severus," Hermione huffed. "Magic is on vacation."

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

"Mum!" Friðr laughed, dismounting Fenrisúlfr and slamming into her leg. Unlike while they were down on Earth, Hermione and Loki had removed the glamour that had usually lay upon their children. Friðr and George were both sporting their "natural" fox ears. sulfurous orange eyes, and literally flaming hair—the mark of their heritage. "We met kitsune from Japan!" the boy crowed, utterly proud.

"Were you polite?" Hermione asked, face stern. "Did you bow appropriately?"

George slammed into her other leg, his ears twitching in excitement. "Yes! She was so beautiful! She had nine tails! Her daughters had one and five. They taught us tricks!"

Both boys closed their eyes. Slowly, a hovering flame formed in front of them and danced around their heads.

Hermione smiled. "Very nice," she said with a pat between their ears. "Did you give them a gift in return?"

The boys frowned. "We said thank you."

"When dealing with those of such an ancient culture," Severus said from the doorway, "it is considered rude not to give some sort of gift in return."

The boy exchanged glances, staring bug-eyed at the dark clad potion master.

"It is also considered rude," Hermione said with a chuckle, "to stare."

"Uncle Severus!" the two fox-eared boys detached from Hermione and slammed into the taller, sombre-looking man. "You learned something new too!"

"Hn," Severus grunted, rolling his eyes towards Hermione with long-suffering look.

Hermione pulled a bundle from a small beaded bag she had somehow managed to conceal on her wedding dress. She pulled out a piece of pretty, patterned cloth that was blue on one side and gold on the other. White bamboo patterns adorned the solid colours. "Come," she said. "Help me wrap these sweets, so you can give them to your new friends as a thank you."

Torn between latching onto their normally corvid uncle and the new lesson, both Friðr and George decided to compromise by dragging him over by the robes.

Severus crossed his arms across his chest and scowled, but the boys paid it no mind.

"This is the furoshiki," Hermione explained as she laid the box of sweets out next to the cloth. "In Japan, it is used instead of wrapping paper, and they are made to be beautiful for the presentation is often far more important than the actual gift."

She cast her hand over the furoshiki and two more appeared next to it. "Now, split the sweets between them, and bring the cloth together. You can tie it like this on both ends and make it look like a bird."

Friðr and George bounced as they imitated their mother, carefully wrapping the divied out sweets. Soon, there were 3 delicately wrapped and knotted packages.

Hermione straightened her son's garments and patted them. "Go on, now. You should give this to them before the wedding starts. And," she added, lifting up both their chins, "you should find your uncle and sit with him."

The twins seemed to be excited and pout at the same time.

Hermione raised a very Snapeish eyebrow at them.

They scurried off in a hurry.

Hermione closed her eyes, taking a deep breath.

Snape laid a hand on her shoulder. "Are you ready?" He gently adjusted Basil,Nameless, and Ouroboros as they turned into her very distinctive choker and sank into her skin, leaving an imprint of his coils on her back.

"No," Hermione answered, turning her eyes up to stare at him.

"Sounds about right," Severus said, letting out a long breath. He extended his elbow.

Hermione closed her eyes, taking in a deep breath. Slowly, she slid her arm around his, walking forwards to the future.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

As Loki stood, tall and proud, watching Hermione walk up the aisle, all of the other thoughts in his brain trickled away. Her wedding dress, crafted by a number of gods, was seemingly spun of stars. Some of them orbited around her as though she were the sun and they the planets.

Her hair draped her back in grand curls. Nestled in her hair was a crown he had only seen in once place before: adorning the head of his mother in formal ceremonies. At her side was Severus, and Loki wasn't even surprised to see him in human form. It seemed so natural for the pair to be together, just as he knew that Hermione would stand at his side for all the days that came ahead. They would be together, even as the skies burned, stars faded, and universes were both created and destroyed. For as long as there was life and death, there would magic and chaos. There would alway be the Sorceress and the Trickster. The Lady Ouroboros would always be attended by her Guard: the stoic raven-wizard whose loyalty was unquestioned, the three serpents of earth, sea, and ether, and the ancient race of Hachi, who would live and die to protect her. It wasn't so bad for a newborn goddess and reborn god.

He smiled serenely as Severus released her arm. She walked up onto the dias and gazed at him through the gauze-like veil. Flickers of bright blue magic moved out from her eyes as she stood on a floor of cosmic energy.

Waghya and a number of the Hachi flanked her, black flames flickering in and out of their silver and green charmed ribbons.

The _Nornir,_ Urd, Verdandi, and Skuld, smiled over the pair and the gathered, linking their hands as they spoke, their voices sounding together, overlapping, and whispering with the sound of worlds behind them.

"Welcome, children, to this most wondrous day."

"Joyous."

"Glorious."

The maiden, mother, and crone moved together as one. "Today, we celebrate the union of god and sorceress, brought together by the strands of fate, but no longer bound by it."

"Their cords are broken."

"Not by intent."

"But of deed."

"Not deeds of damnation."

"But deeds of redemption."

"Selfless."

"Pure."

"Worthy of the gods."

The crone, Urd, raised her head. "Many lives intersect, and all those here witness this moment of singularity."

"This is a time of great celebration," the maiden Skuld said with a smile.

"This is the future in the making," said Verdandi.

"Together," they said together, "we gather not to unite these two, for they are already one. Today, we celebrate their union throughout time— beyond fate— to take their place on a throne not built of faith but truth."

"Truth of who and what they are," Urd said.

"Truth of what shall come," said Verdandi.

"Truth that has always been and shall remain so," said Skuld.

The trio wrapped each of their hands in strands of astral silk that shimmered like strings of stars.

"Today and tomorrow, you will remain each other's rock in the turbulent ocean of life, through good and bad, joy and sorrow, order and chaos."

"Loki _IS_ chaos and turbulent seas," one of the warriors three snarked half under his breath.

Thor stomped hard on Hogun's boot, causing the man's eyes to go crossed with pain.

Fandral and Volstagg each looked the other way, attempting to look as uninvolved as possible.

Triple glares from the Norns focused on Hogun as he shrunk in the chair, staring fixedly at his navel.

"Throughout time and space, you will witness the rise and fall of many threads. Many worlds. Many civilisations. Many lives will come before you in strength or in weakness and you must both be able to empathise and rise above."

"Do you, Loki, son of Laufey, take this being both feminine and magical to be your mate and consort, to stand by your side and your decisions but also to stay your hand in times when reason may be clouded?"

"I do."

"Will you live in balance, recognising that you will not always agree, but that you are stronger when you stand by each other both in agreement and in differences for along as your lives continue?"

"I do."

"Do you, Hermione Jean Granger, child of Miðgarðr, child of Magic, take this being of magic and chaos to be your mate and husband, to stand by him and up to him in both peacetime and chaos. Do trust him in your heart with yourself and your children as your love and your protector, equal, and compatriot, for along as you exist in the cosmos?"

Hermione swallowed hard, letting out a long breath. She squeezed Loki's hand tightly. "I do."

"Do you, Loki, trust this being with yourself and your heart, to guide you along your path when your senses fail. To protect her and your children in all things until they must stand on their own— to acknowledge your paths are entwined, whether rocky or smooth, and together you will always be stronger."

Loki looked into Hermione's face with a warm, yet oddly smug smile. "I do."

Hermione arched a brow at him, knowing that that oddly smug smile always came with a reason.

"We gather here as witnesses to the joining of two beings of the cosmos in bond that lasts the spans of eternity," the Norns chimed together. "We are here to witness what has already been forged—"

" _ **DOOM upon you insects!"**_ a rumbling roar shook the ground and sent tables shaking and toppling. People, aliens, gods, and everything in between staggered and fled as the ground seemed to open up with cracks of fire as giant hands burst through and pulled the massive head and torso up behind them. Blackened, crackling skin with flames and dripping lava-like fluid dripped from the cracks covered every inch of the rising humanoid shape.

His gigantic, humanoid shape.

The giant pulled himself up out of the ground through the waiting wedding cake that had been supersized to feed all of the guests. His skin burned off the icing and cake with a pungent scent of char. Long, curving horns hissed as they flared with fire, burning all moisture off of them.

"Demon!" guests screamed, scrambling for cover.

"Giant!"

" _ **Pissants and fragile bodies,"**_ the giant demon bellowed. " _ **I am Surtr. You may call me Death!"**_

Hermione stared at the flaming demon giant. "I'm sorry. I fear I've already met Death, and you, are not he."

" _ **Insignificant gnat,"**_ Surtr said, slamming down his sword into the earth. It cracked and split, and demon flame-hounds crawled up from below, snarling and snapping only to be followed by a seemingly endless stream of fiery footsoldiers, beastlike humanoids, and—

"A dragon," said Thor, summoning Mjölnir to his hand.

The Warriors Three perked. "Now _**THIS**_ is a wedding!" Fandral yelled.

Sif huffed. "Oh, just forget the giant, towering, demon wannabe-death. Celebrate the dragon?!"

"Well, yeah! Hogun and Volstagg replied.

Thor gave Sif an almost cheeky expression with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

Sif sighed as Hogun and Fandral threw the larger Volstagg at the dragon and Volstagg buried his sword into the dragon's eye and took to beating on its head with an axe.

" _ **Leave some for us, you big lug!"**_ Hogun yelled, throwing a golden bola to wrap around the dragon's rear legs. The weapon snapped tight, and the rear of the dragon fell.

The front of the dragon, however was still very able and willing to rampage, and it snapped at Thor.

Thor spun Mjölnir and flung it, causing it to careen into the dragon's head, but the dragon moved, snaking it's head to the side and coming back to glare at him.

"Uh-oh," Thor grunted, diving behind a table as the dragon blew out a blast of fire.

The fire cut off as Mjölnir smacked into the dragon's head as it returned to Thor's hand, and the dragon staggered a bit. The Warriors Three continued to beat on it while Sif attempted to handle the front legs.

" _ **I'll get it!"**_ Fandral crowded, conking the dragon with a huge warhammer.

" _ **Who brings a warhammer to a wedding?"**_ Sif yelled incredulously.

Fandral shrugged and dodged a wing spur that was trying very hard to impale him. He dodged, but the wing carried through and slammed into Sif, who clung to the leathery wing and used her boot dagger to slice the wing membrane down the center. She landed on her feet on the ground, dodged the wing as the dragon bellowed in pain, cleaned off her dagger, and slid it back into her boot.

" _ **Psh! You brought a dagger!"**_ Fandral yelled.

" _ **A dagger is NOT a warhammer!"**_

" _ **It's my favourite warhammer!"**_ Fandral retorted.

An explosion came from the opposite side of the wedding grounds as Dr Strange and his allies encased a rampaging horde in magical ice and flowing water, dousing their flames as well as pinning them to the floor. Strange was surrounded in magical circles on top of circles on top of even more complex energy tracings. While he channeled his magic, his companions watched his back, dealing with the onslaught that was hellbent on stopping him.

The dragon roared, attempting to lunch at some of the guests, but it chose the wrong ground of wedding guests. The aliens blasted at the dragon with their minds, sending out a pulse of psychic energy towards the dragon's head. The dragon bellowed, clawing at his head, blinding striking out.

" _ **It cannot see! Be—"**_ the cry was cut off as a tail smacked Thor into the one of the wedding arches.

"Mother is going to _kill_ me," Thor groaned as he pulled himself up again. "She worked on that arch for _days_."

Thor dove out of the way as a tail came crashing down on him, and he smashed Mjölnir down on the tail multiple times.

The dragon pulled its head back, his one good eye glowing. Thor looked up and realised the dragon could see again. It looked at Thor, and then it looked at the two flaming hair children hiding behind the garden wall— exposed thanks to the flailing of the dragon.

" _ **Oh shi—"**_

The dragon opened its mouth to breathe flame, eye focused on the twins with nothing short of murderous intent.

Basil rose up in front of them, his orange-yellow sulfurous eyes blazing as he hissed and struck, his fangs sinking into the pink flesh of the dragon's conveniently located tongue.

The twins waved the sunglasses they had removed from Basil's head at the Dragon as if to say goodbye.

The dragon's good eye widened as it peered at the basilisk and his body went stiff almost immediately, not even waiting for the venom to do its work.

The boys stayed within the protective coils of Basil; they felt around to put Basil's sunglasses back on and then retreated further back into coils for protection. Basil's tongue flicked in and out, tense like a spring to any interlopers who threatened "his kids."

"So not fair," Thor sighed.

The flaming demon hounds had seemed to be waiting for a signal, and Surtr swing his flaming sword. " _ **Kill them all!"**_

The hounds leapt into action, tearing after what guests remained.

But the Hachi, spoiling for a good fight to prove their worth, sprang into action in a wave of darkness, flowing around the makeshift battleground, engulfing the flaming hounds and tearing them to pieces. The guards of Ásgarðr did the rest, driving back the waves with the Hachi.

Agents of the fire giant demon surged forth, but hesitated as the Hachi bayed over every fallen soldier of the enemy, and a new Hachi rose forth, snarling and ready to go.

Surtr bellowed. " _ **Kill them or be killed by ME!"**_ he snarled, goading them on.

The armies surged from the molten cracks, becoming one in a united fervor.

Dr Strange gave out a yell, and a blaze of water magic whooshed over the flames in a ring of otherworldly magic. Stephan threw a glance over to Hermione and Loki, whose hands were still bound in the astral silk. The pair exchanged a glance, and Loki nodded. Hermione closed her eyes as Loki started a surge of magical power at their joined hands, and Hermione threw out her hand as a blast of magic flew out towards Dr Strange. Strange caught the line of magic as one would a rope, coiling it around himself and channeling it to his companions. They layered magical runes in rings, over and over, blasting them over the ground and rising them up. The rings expanded over and above, flaring with growing magic.

Magic blazed out of Strange's eyes as he slammed his hands together, curving his hands into a specific pattern. He pulled his hands apart, and an arc of cutting magic blazed outward as his companions used their magic to shield the wedding guests. The magic cut right through the masses, including the Hachi, but the wispy Hachi only split in half and reformed. Their enemies, however, were not so lucky. Screams were cut off as the magic seared through the grounds and ignited each minion of the flame out of control, forcing them to burn themselves to ash as their flames burned too hot for their normal tolerance. The bodies then exploded in a burst of ash and creosote, leaving the wedding grounds dusted with shades of grey, white, and black char.

"Impossible," Surtr rumbled. " _ **IMPOSSIBLE!"**_

"I don't think that means what you think it means," Loki said, cracking his neck. "It's taken me a while, so I understand, truly, what impossible really means. I can understand that you may _not_ understand."

"Asgardian," Surtr hissed. "I remember you."

"Hmm," Loki said, eyeing the demon carefully. "You might think you do, but you would be wrong."

"Pathetic runt son of Laufey," Surtr laughed. "Ignorant pretender to the throne of Odin. Relies on magic instead of strength. Oh, I know _you_ , Loki, son of Laufey."

"Now, now, such terribly harsh words when we were having such a good conversation," Loki replied, his face twisting into a sad, pouting expression. "You're going to make me _cry_. I'll ruin my new suit. Do you know how hard it was to put this suit on? It took a team of at least ten people plus a dwarf."

" _ **You dare to mock ME? I am the ruler of Muspelheim! I am Death! I will bring down the whole of Ásgarðr and see it fall!"**_

"Hn," Loki said, idly picking his teeth with his fingernails.

The huge black raven perched on Hermione's shoulder rawked, seemingly unimpressed as well.

"I would dearly _love_ to entertain you, Surtr," Loki said, "but as you can see, I'm a little tied up at the moment." He lifted his arm that was still bound to Hermione's with astral, cosmic silk.

"You can entertain me by dying where you stand," the flame giant growled lowly, standing to his full height— towering over everyone and everything around him. "Why don't you just take your mortal whore and make more eight-legged babies that whinny?"

"Or, perhaps," Surtr said with a cruel smile, "you can use _her_ like you did your first wife, hrm? Make a few sons and have good old Odin arrange for them to eviscerate each other?"

Loki turned his eyes up to stare at Surtr, but before he could say anything, Sigyn let out a scream of rage and threw a flurry of daggers towards the towering giant. He rubbed the area between his eyes. "Ah, family. Even when you are divorced, still they pop out of the ground and start throwing daggers into your current conversation. And here I am, without any butter."

Hermione and Severus just stared at him, one feathered and one regular eyebrow raised in tandem.

"What?" Loki replied, straightening his posture. "Butter lubricates conversation quite efficiently."

The raven continued to stare at Loki, obviously rather dubious.

Daggers rained down from the giant as he shook them off. Charred daggers thunked into Loki, the nearby table, the ground, and—

Right in the center of Hermione's wedding dress.

Severus stared down at Hermione, his eyes widening as the dagger had embedded itself in her ribcage. His eyes smoldered, but Loki wrapped his hand around the hilt, his magic singing as his fingers touched the metal. He pressed a kiss to Hermione's mouth. "I know I promised not to instigate anything, _min älskling,"_ he said, causing the dagger to turn to smoke, "but I fear I must have my moment of incoherent wrath over the sanctity of my beloved wife."

Hermione stared down at the gaping hole in her wedding dress. Magic crackled and arched underneath it as it reformed into flawless flesh, skin, and bone. "I _really_ liked this dress." She put out her lip in a pout.

"I swear to you, my lady, if I have to turn myself into a spider and mend it myself strand by strand, it shall be repaired," Loki said, kissing her cheek. "If you would, please, assist me."

"Of course," Hermione replied. "If only we had a Holocaust cloak and a giant black bird."

"Rrrk?" Severus cawed.

Loki ripped the pristine white tablecloth off the wedding table, transforming it into a deep black cloak. "Well, looky here. I seem to have one."

Hermione's lips turned up in a smile. "Excellent."

"I know you couldn't care less about tradition," Loki drawled, "but my large, smoldering, wedding crasher friend, you are throwing daggers at _my_ wedding, and you aren't eve my ex, who at least has the right to do so. The Norse and their daggers." Loki turned his head and stared at Sigyn, whom Surtr had flung into the goldfish pond, narrowly missing the fountain of flesh-eating, musical fountain fish. "I fear I must take off this glove and slap you with it. Or was it take this chair and smash you with it? It is so terribly hard to keep up with culture these days."

"I will kill you where you stand," Surtr said with a curl of his lip. "I will lay Ásgarðr low."

"Been there," Loki said. "Tried that. Ásgarðr is disgustingly hard to raze or lay low. Except for the statue of Thor's grandfather."

Thor shot Loki a look, unseen.

"I tire of your constant heckling!" Surtr roared.

"Pity, I do so enjoy heckling," Loki said with a shrug. "However, if you prefer to violence instead of cake, I shall oblige."

"Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!" Surtr roared, swinging his sword and sending pieces of a nearby topiary animal flying across the green.

Hermione and Loki placed the cloak around Severus and cast him up into the air with magic. His wingspan became larger, spreading across the grounds with the span of the flowing fabric. The cloak expanded into a sheet of flames, but flames that did not burn.

Loki's eyes glowed red, his skin turning a deep, dark royal blue as a series of runes spread across his flesh. Flames of ice-cold magic rose from him, and his bound hand clasped Hermione's tightly. He flung a bolt of magic towards Severus and speared him right through the middle. The corvid rawked, and there was an explosion of icy feathers that swirled around Surtr, hovered in the air, and slammed into each molten crack of his body.

Loki clenched his fist and splayed his fingers, causing the fissures of ice and cold to spread from each feather.

" _ **What? No! This is impossible!"**_ Surtr roared.

"What was that?" Loki asked, sticking his finger in his ear and twisting it a few times. "I seem to have something stuck in my ear."

Surtr's flaming sword fell to the ground as his hand froze in place, the magma-like heat having been instantly supercooled. As the body went from pseudo-solid liquid magma to solid, his fingers crumbled, cracked, and fell off.

Thor and the Warriors Three gave a yell as they ran in. Mjölnir smashed into Surtr's face, breaking off the flame giant's nose as Fandral, Hogun, and Volstagg threw themselves at the giant. Fandral swung on one of the giant horns, and it cracked off, sending it and Fandral flying off into the refreshments table. Volstagg slammed an axe into the giant's kneecap, causing it to break off the bottom part of the leg.

Surtr staggered and began to fall.

Sif was running up. " _ **No! Don't—!"**_

Hogun, not to be left out, screwed up his face in a dour countenance and took his mace to Surtr's foot with a loud, resounding crack.

"Sectumsempra!" a voice bellowed over the sounds of battle.

Large cracks formed all over Surtr's body as a giant bout of frozen Fiendfyre, laced with Hermione's, Loki's, and Severus' magic rose up in the form of a giant wolf and slammed into him, busting the crackling body to smithereens.

The phantom ice-wolf howled and dissipated, and it was answered by the howls of all the Hachi, who now returned to Hermione's side.

As the dust cloud waned, humanoid piles of ash with eyes looked out just before Thor and the others shook the soot, ash, and bits of broken Surtr off themselves. Sif punched Thor in the face. " _ **I told you not to hit him!"**_

" _ **He's dead isn't he?!"**_ Thor yelled back.

" **LOOK AT WHAT YOU DID TO THE WEDDING GROUNDS!"**

Thor looked around. Every inch of the wedding grounds was covered in soot, ash, and burning debris— and pieces of flash-frozen Surtr. The giant punch bowl had a disembodied hand floating in it.

"I haven't been to a wedding like _this_ in ages," said a voice as a dark-cloaked woman floating across the grounds. Her pale face and blue-painted lips seemed to shine. The giant raven rawked from her shoulder and she transferred him back to Hermione. "I volunteer as the second witness to your most glorious wedding, Loki, son of Laufey and Hermione the Sorceress."

"We now pronounce you God and Goddess," the Norns said, each brushes off pieces of Surtr off themselves. "You may now excavate the wedding guests."

"I think they are supposed to kiss, sister."

"Kiss the wedding guests? How forward!"

"No, each other."

"Oh! You may— kiss," the elder crone said, scratching her head confusedly.

Hermione and Loki stared at each other for a long moment as Dr Strange walked out of the ash and debris and conjured a rainbow over the clearing. The pair kissed. Hermione flushed, and Loki looked every bit as smug as ever.

" _Now_ you may excavate the guests," the crone said.

"If you will allow me, Hermione," Strange said with a deep chuckle. "I am used to… cleaning up after calamity."

Hermione gave a deep curtsy. "I leave it to you, my friend."

Dr Strange raised his hands up and conjured a runic ring of magic and cast it outward under the entire grounds. He get a set of figure gestures and sent out a nova of magical power.

Tables righted, torn cloth mended, china and silverware replaced itself, carpet reformed, flowers regrew, pots set themselves back upright, trestles un-toppled, bodies disappeared into the earth, and fresh food and drink appeared on the tables.

"So much for Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration," Hermione said with a sad sigh.

Loki pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Ah, _min älskling,_ you still cling to your old and limited magics, even when you are magic through and through."

Hermione gave him a somewhat shy shrug. "Cut me some slack, I'm still going through a little adjustment period. Back in my normal lifetime, the worst we ever had to deal with was a magic-wielding psychopathic Dark Lord and a magic-wielding psychopathic general for the Greater Good."

"You're here now, aren't you, my love?" Loki said with a smile.

Hermione mumbled a few things that she may or may not have learned on Alpha-Centauri, causing Loki's eyes to widen and his face to brighten.

"I _**love**_ this woman!" Loki crowed, squeezing her tight and twirling her around.

Severus clung to her shoulder, rawking in dizziness. He shot out his wing and smacked Loki upside the face.

Loki grinned, too amused to care, but he did put Hermione down.

The wedding guests were all filing back onto the grounds, looking around them in amazement that everything was still there and beautiful.

"I won't tell if you don't," Loki said to Thor.

Thor opened his mouth to say something, but Sif stuffed a huge green apple into his mouth. She glared at the rest of the Warriors Three, and they wisely zipped their lips together with their fingers and tried to look innocent.

Odin came in with a brace of guards and a trail of children, having protected them during the wedding assault. A little girl was clinging tightly to his neck until her mother rushed up to collect her.

"Thank you, Lord Odin" she gushed.

Odin merely nodded in acknowledgement and continued on his way as the children reunited with their parents. Frigga was staring into her favourite fountain suspiciously, wondering why her fish were seemingly more plump and drowsy.

"My friends and guests, thank you for coming to our wedding," Loki said with an air of well-practiced nobility. "I do apologise for the untimely arrival of our uninvited guest. He was most upset that he did not receive a proper invitation. Now that the wedding has concluded and has been witnessed and followed by the old traditional blessing with the remains of our enemies, I invite you all to partake of the refreshments and join us in the celebration of our marriage!"

Cheers went up from the crowd as a section of the guests broke out into a celebratory brawl and smashing of the kegs with their bodies.

Hermione's eyes widened.

Other sections were more reserved with the celebrations, and others burst into song in an alien language that caused champagne to fill the classes.

The giant pile of gifts was covered what appeared to be a cocoon. As the celebration began, movement over the gifts revealed a large clutter what appeared to be plush spiders hanging out.

" _Congratulations!"_

" _Just guarding the gifts!"_

" _Don't mind us!"_

" _Our best to the bride and groom!"_

" _We made a cake!"_

" _Layered cake!"_

" _Tiramisu cake!"_

" _Chocolate cake!"_

" _Vanilla too!"_

" _And booties!" the pink one announced._

" _Shh! Shh! Don't tell!"_

" _Shh!"_

" _Wheee!"_

Hermione stared as the clutter of multi-coloured spiders hustled away into the crowded wedding grounds. "Those seem… familiar somehow."

"As my wife is prone to make friends in random species," Loki said, "I have no doubt you would befriend animated plush spiders that look like they escaped from the children's classrooms."

Hermione grinned.

Loki extended his hand and arm to her, and Hermione blushed slightly, sliding into a curtsy.

"My Lord husband," she said with a loving expression on her face.

"My Lady wife," Loki purred.

Severus rawked, looking uncomfortable.

"And you, my friend," Loki said with a quirk of a smile. "I am glad you are here, both for my lady wife and for myself."

Severus seemed to flush underneath his feathers, seemingly glad that he was in his current corvid form instead of his more human one. Hermione leaned into his feathers, pressing his body to her cheek.

"May I have this dance?" Loki asked, bowing as he gestured to the dance floor set around the fountain.

"Of course,"Hermione replied with a grin.

Loki smiled, kissing the back of her hand and bringing her out onto the dance floor. The music swelled, and the newlywed couple swirled around a dance floor that had shifted into a vast scene of planetary splendour. Hermione's dress shimmered, and the magic between herself and her husband surged between them and burst into a cascade of stars and cosmic vapour.

Fenrir sat with the twins, his tail wagging in clear approval, with the charred remains of someone or some _thing_ still clenched in his jaws.

"Ewww, brother," Friðr said.

"Nasty," George agreed.

They cast a table cloth over him to cover up the disembodied arm. Fenrir's tail wagged on.

The Hachi gathered around, their heads swaying to the music with their tails.

As others joined the couple on the dance floor, planets and star clusters sprung into being and whooshed away, making away for others of different sizes, shapes, and colours.

The fountain began to glow, and the multi-coloured fish jumped into the air and back down in the water, letting out a large blech of music as they did so, sounding like the hum of a heavenly choir.

Hermione giggled as she placed her head on Loki's chest. "Aren't those the flesh-eating fish your mum keeps?"

"Mmmhmm," Loki replied. "Did I forget to mention that they offer up spectacular symphonic belching after a good meal?"

"You did, husband," Hermione said, a tug of a smile on her lips.

"They do," Loki said. "They sing far better than Thor. In tune, even."

"I heard that, brother!" Thor hissed, glaring at Loki as he and Sif danced by.

Sif conked Thor upside the head as they drifted further off.

"Those two are quite the pair," Hermione commented.

"They've been in an _un_ relationship for nearly as long as Sol and Mani have been riding their chariots across the cosmos, if you would believe the All-Father."

Hermione smiled. "If I have learned anything, I have learned that the stories of Ásgarðr are varied both in size and truth."

Loki grinned at her widely. "And we shall make our own, my love. Come Ragnarök and beyond." He leaned in a pressed a kiss to her mouth, and their magic hummed in perfect harmony.

Kiwis, mangosteens, kumquats, tangerines, passionfruits, cherries, lychees, pomegranates, sapodillas, guavas, and tamarinds rained down from above.

Over the alien attendees, strange foods of every shape and size rained down from above, causing much laughter and gathering amongst them. Children, alien and non, rushed around with woven baskets to collect the wide variety of falling fruit.

But Hermione and Loki danced on, oblivious to all but each other, with Severus perched on Hermione's shoulder in a way many in the future would envision them together.

The God of Chaos and his mate, the Sorceress— accompanied by the raven, the wolf, and the three serpents. For these were the images found set in the stars, always together, standing with hands linked throughout time and space.

Feared and loved.

Loved and feared.

Magic was never far from Chaos, and Chaos held Magic close in all things.

And in a time very far into the future, Asgardian children would hear the stories of the former prince of Ásgarðr, risen to power only to fall, but in that fall find what he was really looking for all along. There were stories of a woman of Miðgarðr who was born human and frail on a path of hardship. Yet, in time, the two found each other, and in the end, when Asgardian children wished to take up magic, it was to Hermione the Sorceress they sent up their prayers. And whenever a child was ridiculed for being different or weak, it was the god of Chaos they asked for comfort and respite— knowing that sometimes great wisdom could be found in accepting humility and the randomness of life.

It was said, on some worlds, when parents put their children to bed, they were told to behave because the Sorceress would be watching. If their children were truly bad, they would say Loki would kidnap them and throw them into a peaceful garden pond filled with beautiful and ravenous flesh-eating fish that would musically burp their appreciation for the free meal..

Whether the tales were true or not was anyone's guess.

If the God of Chaos and his Sorceress wife, the mother and the executioner, knew the truth, neither were telling.

_**Fin.** _

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Sorry for the delay in this ending. H.E.A.! Even Severus has his happy ending. Oh, and well, plush spiders always make everything better!

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Just a little one-shot I needed to get the heck out of my brain. The idea was that long ago (and the years have passed so long that Hermione can’t even remember when it was) she was helping Harry capture a Dark Wizard. Every since the war, she was very good at sensing magical signatures, and she was the best at it. In the battle, however, she was stunned by “the good guys” and thrown into a magical circle the man was creating a sorceror’s stone in. So, instead of creating a stone, it remade her with the combined magic. She became the first and only living embodiment of the sorceror’s stone. She became immortal. She became magic itself. People around her grew old and died, but she no longer aged. In my head, this new Hermione glamoured herself to appear “normal,” but a part of her knew she would never be so again. She was gifted and cursed to wander the world, learning to dread making friends because they would grow old and die and leave her alone again.  
> So, one day, she is visiting a random secluded beach, and she meets Loki. The time seemed irrevalant. He’s had a fight with Thor, again, and he’s seeking the same sort of seclusion as she… and then this story comes into play.  
> Maybe it only makes sense in my crazy brain, but maybe it makes sense to more than myself. I hope so anyway. I hope you enjoyed it.


End file.
